Leave a Message
by Totally-Out-Of-It
Summary: The answering machine was just there for appearances, and yet the blinking number on it was still there, and for some reason James couldn't ignore it. In his solitary life, James never expected to connect with anyone, not at work and especially not with a civilian who was a complete stranger. But Q might be the connection he really needs, in more ways than one.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Just a note about the tags - later on there are references to torture but beyond James kicking some minor ass, there are no graphic descriptions, so that warning did not apply.

Thank you so much to my beta JessicaMDawn.

* * *

Slipping off his Oxfords and dropping his bag unceremoniously by the door, James Bond let out a relaxed breath at just past five in the evening. After a month abroad, he was finally home.

The cleaning lady employed by the agency had kept his home looking dust and mildew free, for which he was always grateful, and he made a mental note to leave her an extra tip the next time he was called away. Nothing ruined a homecoming like a musty, dusty home.

After pushing the shoes against the wall, he loosened his tie, and he was undoing his buttons on his shirt when he noticed his answering machine blinking.

Curious, he thought. Anyone at MI-6 would have called his mobile or radioed him on a secure line. No one called his home number. The machine was just there for appearances. Pressing play, he listened to the automated voice tell him he had three new messages, and he waited to hear some automated spam call.

"First message," said the robotic woman's voice.

-Beep!-

"Hi, it's Q. Sorry for the last minute call. You've probably left already. Honestly, you need to fix that mobile of yours so this doesn't happen in the future."

Well it was definitely not a spam call. Staring down at his machine, Bond noted the youth to the male voice – not a teenager, but probably younger than thirty. A wrong number was more interesting than fake debt collectors, he supposed.

"Anyway, in case you're just in the shower and you hear this before you head out – I'm running a few minutes behind schedule. Damn Riley had me late for the bloody tube, of course. Bastard never knows when to let silence be the end of it. Honestly, all I did was-… Well anyway, I'll tell you when I see you at Prufrock."

-Click-

"End of first message."

Pursing his lips, James waited for the second message and wondered if the young man had been embarrassed when he met up with his friend and discovered he'd left a message on a stranger's phone. He stepped away from the machine, still listening, as he undid his shirt buttons and began to disrobe right there in entryway.

-Beep!-

"Hi, it's Q. Why get a landline installed if you treat it like a painting – old, archaic, and pretty to look at, I suppose, but otherwise useless? Might as well have given me the number to my sister. Feels like I'm talking to myself more than anything else."

So the coffee date at Prufrock from the previous call hadn't alerted young "Q" to the error of his ways, apparently. James made a sound of disinterested surprise as he walked, shirtless and shoeless, to his bedroom just a few steps to the side. He dropped his clothes into a hamper for the cleaning lady to do the following day and grabbed his jogging clothes from where they were hung up beside the door to the room.

"Anyhoo, I didn't call to talk about her. Riley's threatened the rent again. I know this sounds old, Eve, but I'm going to be late again. Have to do a lot of groveling before I head out to meet you. Any chance we could change to meet in Highgate this time to make up the difference? Give me a call if so. Otherwise I'll be out to Prufrock just as soon as I am able."

-Click-

When his sweater released his head, James cast a confused stare over to his machine. If the last message was from the same young man and he still didn't get the hint about the wrong number, then James would have to seriously consider transferring his calls to his mobile, because someone needed to alert the poor boy before his girlfriend got mad about his reoccurring tardiness.

Yes, the young man was calling to let her know, which made the tardiness more forgivable, but she wasn't getting the messages, so she'd never know. Part of James ached thinking about the scoldings Q probably got for these two delayed coffee dates.

Pulling on his sweatpants, he heard the final message beep.

-Beep!-

"Um… Yes. Hello. This is terribly awkward. Well… Well bloody embarrassing, really," came the same young man's voice. He was much less confident this time around, and James smirked, guessing the cause before it was spoken. "Right, well it seems you are not my friend Eve and I have been leaving messages on a stranger's phone for two weeks. I just wanted to call and apologize properly. I've got the right number now, and… Well, damn it all, I was sort of hoping to catch you in person this time, but now I just hope you listen past hearing my voice starting the message."

Lazily, James made his way back to the machine and looked down at the blinking light. It was good Eve set the boy straight. It wasn't good to keep calling strangers and leaving personal information on the messages.

"Again, I'm terribly sorry for inconveniencing you and filling your voicemail with my prattle. Have… Have a lovely day." The last sentence was more question than statement, and then the message went silent for exactly three seconds before it cut off. Too long to be the boy finding the 'end' button on his phone.

For the remainder of time it took the machine to offer him options on how to deal with the messages and if he wanted to erase them, James imagined being at a loss for words, unsure how to end a terrible, embarrassing confession. He'd never been in such a spot before. Must be stressful.

Answering machine done, James Bond turned and dropped onto his couch in his much more comfortable running clothes. Maybe he'd run in the morning, but for the next twelve hours he was just going to sleep. Sleep and forget the momentary curiosity and excitement of having unknown contents on his answering machine.

* * *

Work in the office was not James' preferred activity. He was an agent for a reason. He was sent around the world on missions. At least if he had to do 'busy work' overseas, he had good views to look at while he did it. In the building for MI-6, he and the other agents generally only had to walk into other people's offices, but every once in awhile, they had to borrow an office of their own to write reports.

None of them liked it. But they all did it.

Reports felt tedious to James when he considered all the surveillance and data logs they already had about the mission – but sometimes agents went dark or weren't in view of security cameras or whatever, so he supposed he understood the need.

But really, if I.T. could just get their shit together, maybe the agents wouldn't have to work so hard and maybe missions could get done quicker and the reports wouldn't have to be as long.

"Looks like a small novel this time," Miss Moneypenny said as a greeting to him when he finally set his report on her desk. She would give it to the proper department head.

"Feels like the reports just get longer and longer each time," James admitted with a tired sigh. He ran his hand back over his short hair and gazed wistfully up at the ceiling lights. "I remember back in the day when we agents didn't have to write reports at all."

Moneypenny slapped him on the shoulder in scolding before taking his report and dropping it in someone's box. "Oh hush, 007. Neither of us is past our prime. And the minute you start trying to say we are is the minute we lose our battle with time."

"Time catches up to us whether we admit to it or not, Miss Moneypenny," James countered, too tired for her optimism. "And I am older than you by enough that time is nipping at my heels much more often than at your pretty red pumps."

"No one would dare nip at these shoes – at least if they value their lives," Moneypenny teased. But then she looked more serious and placed one of her beautiful manicured hands on his shoulder. "But honestly, James. Time is an illusion – and no one is guaranteed more or less of it."

"Reading up on your philosophy?" he asked, slipping his hand over hers to gently remove it from his shoulder. Moneypenny was one of the few people he considered a friend, and he understood she was coming from a place of love as she tried to convince him not to dwell on his own mortality. But he was a realist at heart.

She smiled and shook her head, squeezing his hand. "A friend of mine likes to say deep things like that. He says time, and many other things I complain about, are manmade conventions, and we should do our best not to be held back by them. Sometimes I tease him about it. Well, most of the time really, but you know sometimes I think he has a point or two that aren't completely crazy."

She laughed quietly and James found himself echoing the sentiment. He took a deep breath before speaking again. "Well this timeless man is going to head home. No offense to yourself, but this office has a tendency to ship agents back into the field before we get some proper R and R."

As he backed up toward the door and away from her, Moneypenny laughed again. "You? Rest? I think that's the craziest thing I've heard all my life."

"Good day, Miss Moneypenny," he said with a smirk.

"Good day, 007."

* * *

His flat was dark. His suit from the day before was clean and pressed and hanging in the closet. His bags and drawers were undisturbed. It was so quiet that he would have heard an intruder's heartbeat. And this was where he called 'home'. This was where he returned to for 'relaxation'.

For the first time in a long time, James looked around his dwelling and got only one, terrible feeling from it. It all felt cold – in that empty kind of way.

He slipped off his shoes and undid his tie. He arranged the shoes by the door and then undid his shirt. The entire ensemble he'd worn that day went in a pile to be dry-cleaned. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a less formal button-up shirt to go relax in. It was monotonous – exactly the same as every day in the apartment before.

With a slow sigh, he walked through the opening hall to head for the kitchen, but he stopped before he reached his destination. The light on his machine wasn't blinking – he didn't have a new message. But the bright, glowing three from the day before was still there. Oh right. He hadn't deleted the messages, just listened as the machine told him how to do it.

Shaking his head, James turned away from the device and found himself a pack of crackers to munch on until he found something more suitable. He should really go for a run. And maybe he would go out for lunch. Early dinner? What time was it anyway? But did he want to go eat alone?

A strange tug had him back at the answering machine and pushing play. He listened to the date and time information and popped a cracker in his mouth.

"Hi, it's Q. Sorry for the last minute call. You've probably left already."

There was something about the messages, something that kept James from deleting them the day before, but he couldn't explain it. He didn't know this boy and his jerk of an acquaintance, Riley. He certainly didn't know anything about the strangely durable relationship between Q and his lunch date Eve, who never seemed to mind that Q was late.

"Well anyway, I'll tell you when I see you at Prufrock."

-Click!-

James hit stop before the rest of them could play. The idea forming in his mind was ridiculous, to say the least. And yet he still found himself putting the crackers away and donning his jacket. He still found himself in a cab and driving into the city.

There was something relieving about those misplaced calls, he decided. The normalcy of the conversation, the easy cadence of someone speaking to a friend, and the complete lack of anything overly dramatic – like a bomb threat or something – hidden in the messages like a code all mixed together to soothe some small part of James Bond's mission weary brain.

When he stepped out of the cab, the Prufrock Coffee Café smiled out at him, as though a building even had the ability to smile or make fun of him. Ridiculous. But he was being quite ridiculous today, apparently.

Inside was startlingly welcoming. James had been in cafes around the globe and been in many inviting and welcoming ambiances, and this one would certainly make that list. Wood, or imitations of it, was in high supply in most of the chairs and tables and counters, and that was always a plus for James no matter how often he praised new-age pristine plastics and metals in his bars.

The line for coffee was five people long, and James slid right in behind a tired looking woman gazing longingly at the baristas making fresh brews. Sliding his eyes around the room, he tried to deduce which of the patrons could be Q or his friend Eve, but he didn't have infallible hope of success. The two of them probably weren't even there. James wasn't an expert on their movements yet.

Yet?

With a slight shake of his head, he focused on the line. He was obviously starved of normal human contact if he was obsessing over these strangers already. No more. He'd get his coffee and leave, and that would be an end to it.

The line moved quickly and James was out before his espionage riddled brain could try snooping in on anyone further. Even if Q were in the café, he no longer wanted to know, and as long as James got out quickly, he could keep believing that. And if he kept believing that, then soon it would be true.

Taxis didn't hover outside of Prufrock, so James walked the short distance to the nearest tube entrance, where taxis would circle for tourists or people not interested in being stuck in a sardine can any longer. The coffee was fantastic, he noted, and he actually took the time to sniff it and enjoy another few sips before going for the nearest cabbie.

A mob of people left the tube right as James passed the entrance, and he was momentarily swarmed by them as they moved passed one another. Grunting and glaring, James remembered that crowds like this were one of the reasons he didn't wander in the city often. He preferred his flat. Where no one bothered him. And mindless cattle didn't shove against him.

"-meet you by the Thames. I'll bring you your coffee. Caramel with-"

That voice. James stopped and turned, but the mob had split into three factions and more than half of them had phones to their heads. Streetlights were either letting the pedestrians cross or they were doing it anyway, and then the whole herd was far out of hearing distance.

That had been Q's voice. There wasn't a doubt in James' mind. But he'd been distracted with his distaste for crowds, by his coffee, by convincing himself to just go home. He'd missed finding Q.

And then he rubbed a hand over his face and groaned at himself. Hadn't he just told himself it didn't matter? Q was a random civilian who happened to call James Bond, MI-6 field agent, by mistake. He needed to let it go.

His mobile rang.

"Bond," he greeted, and realized he was still searching the street for the remnants of the mob, as though Q would still be meandering about.

"Your presence is requested, 007," Miss Moneypenny's voice announced. "M's office in twenty minutes. Sam will be here to let you in."

Already changing his trajectory, James did his best to sound smooth as he said, "What? I won't get to see your smiling face again today?"

"Unfortunately," she agreed, but she didn't sound sad. She sounded quite chipper, really. "I'm meeting someone for a lunch date. But I'm sure you'll manage without me."

"Well I suppose it's a burden I will have to bare. Have fun on your date." And he hung up before she could reply.

In his gut he felt the hot pang of jealousy, but not because she was dating. James wasn't interested in Moneypenny romantically, and even though he'd never turn her down carnally, they both had drawn a line around anything of the sort. So he wasn't jealous like a jilted lover. Not in the least. But he thought of Q and his Eve, drinking coffee in that warm shop together on a regular basis. He thought of Moneypenny going to some nice little restaurant for a quick personal meet up with a lover, a friend, a relative.

Face just shy of scowling, James hoped M had a new mission for him, because the sense of loneliness in London was not a feeling he was used to and he needed to leave it behind sooner rather than later. When he got home again, he was going to delete those messages. This feeling all started with them.

* * *

If you liked the story, please feel free to leave a comment. :)

If the desire sparks in you, you may draw art, write a mini-spin-off fic, translate this into another language, or read it as a podfic. My only condition is that you tell me about it, give me credit for the original, link back to the original work, and comment with a link to wherever said fanwork is located. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Florida was nice in Winter. Well, apparently it was nice all the time because the weather didn't really change much. Locals cursed the humidity, but James found it to be a nice diversion from the usual cold and windy attitude of mother England. While in Orlando, he would enjoy the heat.

He'd fully intended to go to the beach, swim and get a tan, maybe find someone to warm his hotel room. But his case kept him too busy and too far from sandy beaches, so he had to cope with the TV in his hotel room, which had a channel devoted to showing scenes of beaches… because why not? The room was comfy without it, but James supposed it did add a sort of ambiance.

It was a nice, quiet change from the stalking he'd been doing during the days – following a man who they hoped would divulge information about an organization called Spectre that was as hard to pin down as the name suggested. In the end, he found out about a meeting going down in France, but that wouldn't be for several days. Now all he had to fill his remaining time in Florida was his fake beaches in his plush and comfy hotel room.

No fireplace though. Well, his hotel room did have one, but it was digital and there was no crackling wood or heat to be had. Perhaps he was being too sentimental. It wasn't as though he lit fires regularly at home. He liked the view of a well kept fire regardless of its authenticity or how often he had one of his own, so he found himself staring at his fake fire for over an hour on the night before his return to London.

Stupidly, he thought of coffee and of Prufrock. But he didn't let any names enter his mind.

At least not until the next day, when he was back in his own country and done with MI-6 and, ridiculously, sipping the best latte of his life out of a tiny blue cup in Prufrock Coffee. That's when he let the names Q and Eve make it to the surface of his thoughts, and he looked around again to see if any possibilities were in the room. He wouldn't know for sure without hearing Q speak, but at least he could test his spying skills by trying.

Around red pillars and wooden counter tops, he saw at least three male and female pairs. One couple was far too young. Despite James' original thought that Q was young, he was almost certainly in university by now and the first couple was a pair of teens. The other two couples were unknown in age, old enough to be Q at least, but James couldn't imagine the voice on his machine coming from any of their mouths.

After several minutes, James glanced into his cup and saw maybe a sip or two left of latte. It seemed he would not be finding Q that day unless he went through multiple drinks. He liked caffeine as much as the next guy but not enough to ruin his blood pressure for a voice on the phone.

His two sips came and went. No new young men entered the café. So James Bond left with no more satisfaction than one normally achieved from drinking a good cup of coffee.

Stepping into his flat, he was not filled with the melancholy of the previous week. Instead he felt the normal, quiet comfort of being at home, and he felt his muscles relax slightly in the wake of it. Not with a smile, but at least with a calm air, he walked further inside, shedding his shoes and outer layers. See? He just needed to be home to feel better. He didn't need coffee or a mystery.

But speaking of both – his answering machine was lit up with a new message. Before he could convince himself otherwise, he hit the play button.

"Hello," came Q's familiar voice. "For the record, I also think this is crazy. Only a nutter calls someone they don't know, someone they've never even heard or know the gender of, to complain about life. But Eve found out about my mistake from last week and she says you might not even be a person, just a machine. And more so, she stubbornly refuses to listen to my problems this week – too damn busy at work. She told me to talk to one of my other friends, but if I'm being honest I don't really have any other friends. And now I'm ranting on a stranger's answer phone. I've lost my mind. I'm hanging up now. Goodbye."

How was it possible for a pointless rant to be endearing? And ultimately sad?

James was a solitary creature. He worked alone a majority of the time. He lived alone. He exercised alone. He did everything alone, give or take the odd talk with Moneypenny. But that came with the job. The less of a social life he had, the easier it was for him to take off at a moment's notice, the less he had to lie to a loved one, and the less leverage an enemy could hold over him.

But for a civilian as young as Q sounded? How did he only have one friend? How did he become so in need of conversation and an outlet that he willingly dialed a stranger and left a message?

James hit a different button on the machine and the mechanical woman's voice said, "Outgoing message. To listen, press 1. To record, press 2."

He pressed one.

"No outgoing message recorded," the voice answered. "To record a new message, press 2."

So whenever Q called, he just heard James' number repeated back to him – no indication of who he was reaching out to. If there had been a message, he'd have known immediately that he'd reached the wrong number when he tried to call Eve.

He pressed two.

"Please record your message after the tone."

Did he even have a plan for this or was he just going to rant like Q? That was a silly question. James Bond always had a plan.

Beep!

"Hello. If you have reached this message by accident, hang up. If you have important information to relay, continue only if it is life or death. If this is Q, continue as planned. Your messages may or may not be received in a timely manner, if at all."

Beep!

The machine replayed the message and James accepted it. He was not a chatty person, and he wasn't promising Q any sort of response, so it was an acceptable message. But he wasn't telling Q to stop calling either. As heartless as some people deemed him, James wouldn't take away what could be someone's only form of a healthy outlet. Just because James liked to drink as his outlet didn't mean he wanted to drive someone else to the bottle.

And it wasn't like he was calling this random person back. Calling a stranger might be a healthy outlet for Q, but James wasn't out of his mind. Letting some random civilian into his head? Into his life? That was too dangerous for both parties involved.

James checked his watch and then changed into his running gear. It was still early enough to jog but late enough that most people were heading home, so his route would be clear. He'd been lax on his daily jogs lately. It was time to clear his head of café frequenters and focus back on himself. Focusing on himself kept him happy and alive.

That's how he'd always been. That's how he needed to stay.

* * *

Paris was a gorgeous city… well usually. James had been there a few times and had the option to see both the glamorous façade of the city as well as the dirty streets and dark underbelly. Mostly he was in the underbelly, making it darker with blood but also a bit lighter for having one less criminal slinking about.

As cliché as it may appear, his favorite spot in the city was the Eiffel Tower. It had a great view from the top, or from any level to be honest, and there was never a shortage of good food to eat. People watching was never dull, and there was something calming about watching other people having a good time, regardless of how his day had gone.

Standing on the second floor by the vision well, James took pleasure in seeing visitors nervously take photos of how high up they were. It had been a long time since he'd been truly afraid of heights. The number of times he'd fought someone on helicopters, in planes, on cliffs – heights were an occupational hazard. Sure, the worry of falling to his death was still a factor, but he'd learned to ignore it.

A young couple snapped a photo and hurried from the edge just in time to bump into James' mark. The man grunted but waved off the apologies of the couple and then he was moving for the elevator. James moved swiftly and entered the parallel elevator just before the doors shut. On ground level, he stepped out and nodded at a woman walking her dog. She nodded back with a smile and flicked her wrist, jostling the dog, and suddenly she was being yanked toward the other elevator, shouting loudly in French at her wild pet.

The other elevator opened and the mark stepped out. The dog and the woman jolted toward him and temporarily bumped him back into the elevator's remaining occupants before they were ripped off in another direction. Adopting an air of concern, James ran to stop the dog, which came to an obedient halt in front of him.

"My goodness," James said, keeping his hand on the dog's head as he addressed the owner. "Are you alright, Mademoiselle?"

In a heavy French accent, she laughed once and replied, "Thanks to you, Monsieur. My apologies. I do not know what got into 'eem. He ees usually so well behaved."

"No apologies needed, Ma'am," James assured and took her hand in his. He brought it to his lips and kissed it gently. "We all get excited sometimes."

"Oui, Monsieur," she said, voice light and airy. "I… But I must be going. Mon mari is expecting me. Excuse moi." And she walked quickly away, the perfect air of embarrassment and fluster to her expression and gait.

After a short moment of watching her leave, James turned and strode off toward the Champ de Mars, the manicured lawn that stretched out from the base of the tower. He stopped at the tree line, shaded from the sun and prying eyes by what little foliage the tree still had in the cool weather.

Out of sight, he looked down at what he'd received from his pickpocketing partner. In her brief acquaintance with the mark, she'd managed to lift his watch. Perfect. James slid the device into his pocket and then calmly made his way back to his hotel. Another job done.

"A watch?" R asked when he linked video with her that night. "What do you want me to do with a watch?"

R was head of the I.T. department, and James didn't know her real name. Sort of the way he didn't know what Q's real name was – because it couldn't be Q. The difference here was that he'd been working with R for over a year.

"I thought you were I.T.," James replied dryly. "It's a smart watch with access codes to his mainframe. And it has a micro SD card slot with the card currently in it. There has to be something you can extract from that."

"What exactly do you think he carries around with him? Wouldn't he keep important things more secure?" R asked, already trying to use the wifi of James' laptop to access the watch.

"You'd be surprised how secure most people think they are," he answered and linked his fingers together in front of him. "Look, I know it has the information we need. When he entered the meeting with Blofeld, the watch didn't have the SD card."

"Well the signal strength of that laptop and the hotel isn't going to cut it. You'll need to bring it home for me to get anything from it," R said, sighing in frustration and stopping her attempt to hack the watch from England.

"Arrange it so I have a ticket for the next flight," James said curtly and ended the call.

There had been so many leaps and advancements in technology, but sometimes he felt the I.T. department, and the R&D department in general, at 6 was still failing to do small things. With the gizmos and equipment James had glanced on his brief visit to see I.T. once, he expected they should be well on their way to making hoverboards and teleportation tubes. Strengthening wifi and hacking a smart watch should be as easy as brushing their teeth.

They'd lost their previous head of R&D, a man named Boothroyd, a year or so ago. Perhaps that was why everything was stagnating. Maybe James should drop a suggestion to M about replacing the old man finally. But maybe he wouldn't. After all, it wasn't his decision to make, and he'd been getting on fine for years without all the fancy new tech. He could continue to do so now.

* * *

Several hours, a boring plane ride, and one unmemorable secretary later, R had the watch and memory card and James was on the roof lighting up a cigarette. As he let out the smoke, a short, cold breeze whisked by and pushed it all back into his face. He grimaced until the wind had finished blowing it past him and then stared accusingly down at the cigarette in his hand.

"I thought we had a working arrangement," he grunted and raised the fag back to his lips. "Like you're not killing my lungs fast enough, now you're after my eyes too." And he blew out the smoke to his right. This time, the wind let him.

"Talking to yourself, James?" Moneypenny asked as a way of announcing herself. "Not a good sign, is it?"

"It is when you need to straighten a few things out with Mother Nature," James replied and turned to meet her. "Did you need something?"

The dark skinned woman shrugged and held out a small to-go box. "Gift from Mother Nature's estranged sibling, Human Society." When James didn't immediately take the box from her, she sighed and rolled her eyes. "It's cake, James. Just take it."

And he did. "Why are you giving me cake?" He pulled the lid open a bit to glance inside and saw it wasn't chocolate, as he'd expected. It was strawberry.

"Friend of mine had a birthday party – small, because he doesn't like big events and doesn't have a lot of friends anyway, but the point is, we had some leftover cake and you need a little pep in your step too. So just eat the damn cake and say thank you." Moneypenny crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow as if to say 'will you dare to challenge me?'

It didn't take much effort at all to smile in the wake of her powerful attitude. "Thank you," he said honestly and took another drag of his cigarette. "Is this the same friend who likes to say deep things?"

"Yes and you're welcome." She turned and started to walk back toward the stairs.

"Moneypenny," James called out to stop her and dropped his cigarette. He stepped on it as she looked back over her shoulder. "The friend you keep mentioning – what's his name?"

Her smile teased a deep well of intent, but all she said was, "Daniel."

After a moment of silence, she continued walking and then James was alone on the roof again. Only now he had cake. He looked off into the city in the direction of his home and blew out air despite having no new drag of smoke hidden in his mouth.

"Well Daniel doesn't start with a Q," he murmured and then scowled at the city when he realized where his thoughts had gone once again. "Damn."

* * *

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	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"You made a message just for me," Q said instead of using a greeting on his next message. "Well I had my reservations, but as you have undeniably just given me leave to do as I wish, you're about to get more than you bargained for. You… You recorded a message just to tell me to keep talking? I'm honestly not sure what that says about you, or about me, to be quite fair, since I'm about to take you up on the offer." He paused for a moment.

There was something curling in James' chest, and he couldn't put a name to it. Was this… intrigue? He was curious, as he often got during missions, about what Q might say. What kind of information would this yield? What secrets would it uncover?

Then Q took a sharp breath. "Male. I'm not sure if I expected that or not. I think I expected female, but that's probably because I originally thought I was calling Eve. She doesn't usually make mistakes like giving out the wrong number, but I can't think she meant to give me the wrong number. That would be ridiculous and-…. You recorded a whole message just to- Sorry, I um- I have to go. My boss is calling. I'll call back later. Maybe. Probably."

"End of message."

James leaned on the wall by his answering machine and crossed his arms. That didn't sound like someone whose boss was calling. It sounded like someone who was trying to come up with an excuse to hang up. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips but he refused to let it through. There was no reason to get excited over Q being flustered. Besides, there was a second message to listen to.

"Hello again," Q greeted properly. "Sorry about last time. I- Well forget about excuses. Waste of bloody time, aren't they? I'll just get right into the problem, shall I? Riley's threatening to… Well I guess you need back story a bit, don't you? I work for a man named Riley. He does housing for people in and outside of London. Proper workmanship really, but he charges a lot. He got my parents into a house with the promise of low payments but then raised the prices up and there was nothing they could do because of the contract they signed. And I went to work for Riley in exchange for their payments to stay low. He's a righteous bastard. Treats me like- Barely pays me enough for lunches, but- And this morning he calls and says if I call in sick again he's going to terminate my parent's lease and- But I can't just quit, Eve. Erm. I mean. Sorry. Eve's always telling me to quit and… Look, but I can't okay? I just can't. He's got my parents with the house and stupid Marnie with his stupid son and me with-… I just can't. Sorry, I need a minute."

"End of message."

The speed of Q's words got faster the longer the message went on, with him barely pausing even when he broke off his own sentences. And by the time he hung up, the emotion in his words was making James uncomfortable. It was the kind of emotion he heard when trying to lure women or men away from their lovers to divulge their partners' secrets – or at least the ones who felt really guilty about cheating on their significant others. It was a culpable, hopeless sort of sound.

But why would Q feel guilty? It sounded like he was the one sacrificing his life for his parents' wellbeing. What could he possibly be doing wrong? Was the thought of his own freedom at the loss of his parents' that hard on him? Ridiculous. No one was worth turning yourself into someone else's slave.

There was no third message. The calls were from the day before, when James was in Paris. Based on the time stamp, the second one was left around the same time that James was making arrangements with R. Two calls in one day, just hours before James got on a plane to return to London. If he had boarded a flight before calling R, if he had not gone back to his hotel room, it may have been possible that he'd have been home during the calls.

He tried to imagine Q, too embarrassed and emotional to call back, and found that while he could perfectly understand the reaction, he couldn't see himself experiencing the same issue in the knowable future. It just wasn't in his nature, and thus it made it hard for him to fully empathize with the situation… no matter how much he was trying to.

Why was he trying to? Why was he letting the calls continue? He should erase the machine's message, disconnect the phone, find this kid's number and tell him to cease and desist. He should-

The phone rang. And rang. And rang.

No one called his home number. No one but… James reached for the receiver, but his hand hovered over it instead of picking it up. Only Q called and left messages. Q was the only one with the number. It had to be Q. He should pick it up. But wasn't he just telling himself that he should stop making contact with the kid? Not kid? James didn't even know how old Q was.

-Click-

"Hello. If you have reached this message by accident, hang up," the answering machine said as it caught the call. "If you have important information to relay, continue only if it is life or death. If this is Q, continue as planned. Your messages may or may not be received in a timely manner, if at all."

-Beep!-

"Hello." It was Q, as expected. He sounded much more composed and surprisingly distant than he had the day before. "I promise I'm not usually as emotional as I was yesterday. I don't know what came over me and I wanted to apologize. Riley is always being a bastard. I try not to let it get to me, but yesterday… I was sick two days ago, so I'll blame the coping issue on illness. I'll blame the lowered inhibitions that had me calling you at all on that as well. Only a lunatic calls and leaves personal information on a stranger's phone. I'm certainly being illogical."

He paused and James set his hand down on the phone. He could still pick up. The call was being recorded live, right now. If he picked up, the recording would stop and he could talk to Q personally.

What would he say? The obvious thing to do was to pick up and tell Q to stop talking, to stop calling. But for a moment, James hesitated and wondered what it would be like – having Q talking to him instead of at him. Q wasn't a mission. He wasn't a mark or a target or a victim. He was just a civilian. James hadn't talked to a civilian in a long time. This was someone who had no ulterior motive, no grand scheme with worldly consequences.

What would that be like?

"I don't even know your name. Until yesterday, I didn't even know your gender. And yet I called and ranted about my personal life." Q continued, sounding upset with himself. The call would be over soon. "I'm going to tell Eve she was mistaken. Calling a stranger to vent is not healthy or safe. This was a mistake. I'm sor-"

As Q was saying his apology, James pulled up the receiver and cut off the recording.

"James," he said when the cool plastic touched his ear.

"Sor-sorry? You're there! I mean, what was that?" Q asked, flustered by the sudden response.

"My name is James," the agent repeated and narrowed his eyes at the wall. Why was he doing this?

"Oh. That's-," Q fumbled to a halt, unsure how to continue now that James was talking back.

"You said we were strangers," James explained. "But now you know my name. And I know yours, Q."

Silence took over the line, and James inwardly cursed at himself. Q thought he was being illogical, but it was James who was being the truly inept decision maker. Q was going to stop calling. That was exactly what James had decided was the best option, the only proper option, and yet he'd picked up the phone in an attempt to stall that decision. It made no sense in any scenario. James' life was too dangerous, too complicated to have something like this going on in his off time. And Q's life was clearly too complicated to be excused as being James' way to relax.

After the long silence, Q finally cleared his throat and said, "You want me to keep calling?" But how could James answer that? Obviously he did, even more than he thought he did, but he didn't because it was nonsensical, it wasn't safe. "Why?"

James pressed his lips tight together. "I'm not sure," he answered honestly.

"You're a wealth of information," Q teased blandly. "Like a magic ball. Perhaps if I ask again later and give you a shake, I'll get a clearer answer."

"Perhaps," James answered, tone lightening slightly. "Magic balls are funny that way."

Once more, silence stretched between them. James was joking with someone and it wasn't for a mission. It felt… surprisingly good. He looked down at his free hand as though the skin there would provide an answer for his actions, but it was just normal, pale skin. The strangely pleasant sensation of speaking to someone outside of business had not affected him outwardly.

"Apparently so are people," Q answered at last. "I'm walking into work. Maybe I'll… call again later?"

"I probably won't be here," James said. "I'm gone more often than I'm home."

"I've noticed," Q responded, and there was a laugh hiding in his words, tiny as it may be. "But I'll try anyway, shall I?"

"You should."

"I will."

"Good." But why was it good? How in the world could it be good?

The line went dead as Q hung up and James slowly lowered the handset back down. Maybe he'd been concussed too many times in his life. Maybe it was time to give medical a real call. What on Earth was he doing encouraging this civilian to call him? Maybe Moneypenny was right. Maybe he needed to get out more, get a little pep in his step. If he was this deprived of human connection…

James moved into his kitchen and pulled out the box with a slice of strawberry cake in it that Moneypenny had given him the day before. He considered his options for the briefest of moments – did eating the cake mean he agreed with her? – and then he took a fork to it and just ate it. Damn the consequences or what it might mean.

* * *

"I didn't get through all the files on the watch and memory card," R explained the next afternoon. "We had our best techs working on it but some of the files were too heavily encrypted."

"Are you still working on it?" James asked, leaning against the door while R gave her report directly to M. Mallory shot him a look that clearly asked him to shut up. The old M's stare would have been closer to a 'shut the fuck up' sort of order, but Mallory's was somehow just as effective… in that James would keep asking questions to his heart's content.

R looked more annoyed than M at being questioned. "Of course. We have a man trying to crack it as we speak. But it's a code we've never seen before. Highest form of security. I'm surprised it fit on the memory card, honestly."

"Well what DID you discover from the card?" Mallory asked, focusing the conversation back where it needed to go.

"From the card? Nothing. But before he changed his passwords, we were able to use the watch to access some communications. We extracted two possible targets for items of interest to the group. They're looking to acquire a few pieces of equipment in the next couple of weeks," R explained, handing some papers to Mallory. "I don't know what they're trying to build, but it looks like the parts will be bought legally – at least some of them. I checked the prices listed in the files and it's far too low for how much they plan to purchase."

"So theft?" Mallory asked.

"Or black market dealings," James offered. "They pay for so many of what they need and the rest is under the table, off the books, to keep the government from sniffing around about high quantity purchases."

"Do we know who the buyers are?" Mallory asked, flipping through the files.

Stepping forward again, R pointed at an octopus-like symbol on one of the pages. "As far as we can tell, it's an organization called Spectre. This is their logo. The corporation in Florida. The man in Paris. The woman we tracked in Germany. They all have some link or other that can be tied back into Spectre. I already have a man working on digging up information on the group's movements." She cast a snide look over toward James as she said the last bit, cutting off his need to ask if R&D was doing its job.

Mallory deliberated for a moment, finger pressed to his thin lips, and then he nodded. "Right then. R, keep working on decoding the files. There may be information hidden in those files that could be vital to our success in stopping whatever plans Spectre is up to. 007, you're grounded for the next three days."

"Sir?" James asked, pushing himself off the wall and looking as affronted as a double o agent had any right to look.

"By order of Medical, Bond. Don't test me. Or them. You've been on near constant missions for months. It's only three days. And by then, R and her team will have more information on where we can send you off to." He collected R's papers neatly together and set them on the corner of his desk to be filed or destroyed later. "And don't look at me like that either. I'm not taking you off the case. I'm just saying you need to find a distraction – something outside of work to occupy you. It's only three days."

Sounding the complete opposite of convinced, James replied, "Only three days."

"Now you've got it," Mallory said with a smirk.

What the bloody hell was James going to do for three days?

* * *

If you liked what you read, please consider leaving a comment. Comments are love. 3


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It rained the first day. No surprises there. The downpour was too heavy for James to claim it as a light shower and go for a run anyway, so he stayed home and watched the water stream down the windows of his flat. It had rained in Florida too, but there was something different about the rain in London. It even differed from the rest of England's rain. The rain in Florida had been hot and dense. The rain in London was cold and smoky.

James didn't really have a preference for either. But he appreciated both.

He had just finished his first cigarette of the afternoon, sitting in his armchair and staring out at the overcast sky through the drops, when the phone rang. With no sign of rush, he pushed up out of the chair and stepped over to where the handset waited by the answering machine. Lighting a new cigarette, setting it between his lips, and taking a drag, he considered picking up and hanging up, or just letting the machine get it, but obviously there was only one person it could be… and really it wasn't like James had anything better to do. Right?

Just before the machine kicked on, James brought the handset to his ear and answered the call.

"Q," he greeted and let out the smoke from his drag.

"James," came the near immediate reply.

But then silence took over, and James could almost imagine the uncertainty and confusion on the other man's face… except that he didn't know what Q looked like. He couldn't even look him up because he didn't know his name. Not his real one, anyway. He could get someone in I.T. to do a number look up and track it back and find who owned the mobile and there would be a name and a photo, but that entailed letting someone in I.T. know about the civilian calling 007. It could be R. It could be someone worse.

When Q spoke up, there was a slight sigh in his voice. "You may need to stop answering your phone. It's quite a shock, and I'm too young for a heart attack."

"Exactly how old are you?" James asked and leaned on the wall. "You sound like you're barely old enough to get a proper drink." And maybe he was stretching the truth a bit. Who would know?

A huff of indignation was his first response. Then, "I'm hardly that young. I'm twenty-eight."

"Young." And James couldn't help smirking as Q riled at his tease.

"And how old are you, exactly? Ninety?" Q asked, proud petulance coating his question.

"Forty. Come November," James answered honestly. "Practically your father."

That brought out a small giggle. "Exactly how old do you think my father was when he procreated? Eleven?"

"Isn't that when all the kids are doing it these days?"

The laughter sounded good in his ear, and James suspected it was because it wasn't muffled under his own need to use Q for information. He had made someone laugh… just to make them laugh. It was a rare thing indeed that James had the chance for such simple conversation.

When the laughter had died away, Q cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "Well then. Good ice breaker, but now I don't know how to continue."

"You speak with Eve a lot, right?" James asked and got an affirmative noise in return. "What would you say to her?"

A half-laugh. "Too much." Then he paused and sighed out his next words. "Not enough."

Slightly curious, James pressed. "What would you not tell Eve?"

"What Riley's really like. What he does…" Q trailed off, and after a moment he made an aggravated sound. James was familiar with the noise – the sound people made when they thought they'd revealed too much.

He could let it go, let it slip by and change the subject. But the way Q said that, it made a defensive side of James rise and he pushed off the wall, as though he needed to be ready to fight.

"What does Riley do?" he asked, voice harder than he meant for it to be.

"Nothing. He sells homes." Q was diverting, but there was more to this. There was so much more and James itched to drag it out, to goad Q into telling him everything. But… "He stresses me out. That's all."

But if he pressed too hard, Q would just hang up, and he wouldn't call back. And James couldn't find him on his own. He'd lose Q and whatever issues he was dealing with. And… And now was the time to let the diversion work.

With a deep breath, James relaxed his grip on the handset. "So," he started and heard Q suck in a defensive breath. "Are you in school?"

"Yeah?" Q answered and then, "I mean, yes," with a relieved exhale. "I'm almost finished with my MSc in Information Systems Management. Just another two months."

"Impressive," James said and pursed his lips. Q was an I.T. person working for a real estate mogul? Did he man the website or something?

Q chuckled slightly. "No. Impressive is the degrees I already have."

"You have more than one?" James didn't even have one. Technically. He had plenty of training in plenty of fields, but he'd never officially gone to a university or received a degree. Numerous covers of his over the years boasted degrees, but not James Bond.

"Two others, to be precise. I have an MSc in Computer and Information Security and an MSc in Software Engineering as well." And he sounded rather pleased with himself, didn't he?

To be fair, he had every right to be pleased if this was all true.

"Three Master degrees before thirty?" James couldn't even compete. "Would that make you a super genius?"

"I really suppose it depends on who you ask," Q replied, but that pleased sound was still in his voice, so James took it as a yes. He snorted and Q asked, "What about you? What schooling do you have? Or what job, I guess."

Dangerous territory in light of how honest James had been up until this point, but he had prepared white lies from all his time as a spy. "I'm a consultant of sorts. It requires me to travel a lot."

"Ah. Explains why you never answer the phone." Q made a curious noise. "And why your message was so specific about only important people leaving messages. Well, and me."

"Do you not consider yourself important?" James asked, and that was interesting.

Q was obviously proud of himself for his schooling and thought he was more effective than his age proposed, so why would he not consider himself important? The self-degradation Q exhibited was common in James' line of work, but he usually found it in the lovers and wives of powerful criminals – in people who had been told repeatedly that they were nothing and were only good for the man pulling their strings. It was a control tactic.

"Of course I am," Q answered, but he didn't sound particularly sure of it. "I'm indispensible."

James glared at the far wall ahead of him. This was Riley's fault. That's what Riley was doing to Q – he was psychologically tying Q around his finger, wasn't he? A toxic, abusive workplace relationship. The thought made James cold and irritated.

"But not to you," Q continued. "I'm the fool who called you on accident and then didn't have sense enough to stop."

"Which makes me the fool who kept listening to the messages and then didn't have sense enough to not answer the phone." James was trying to make Q feel better, but it made him slightly uncomfortable to admit exactly how foolish he had been, was continuing to be. He cleared his throat. "In any case, you sounded like you needed someone new to talk to. Far be it from me to take that away."

Silence. Somehow, when it came to Q, silence sounded like a necessary part of the conversation, as if words were being spoken without sound. Usually, James took silence as incompetence or a hint that the conversation was over. But not with Q.

"Thank you," the other said after a brief time.

Instead of saying 'You're welcome' or 'anytime' or any other such nonsense, James just made a sound of confirmation, a sort of grunt in his deep voice. Then he lowered his gaze to the floor, to his bare feet, and he said, "Sorry. Did you have a specific reason for calling today? I believe I derailed you from the moment I picked up."

"Oh. Well, not really." Q admitted, bashful. "I guess I just needed… I'm at work, you see. But no one else is in on account of the rain. And I was upset that I was required to be in when no one else was and… Well, I thought about calling Eve but she's always at work or busy except for our weekly coffee dates. So I thought of you. And that's really the start and finish of it."

"Hm. Glad to be of service," he answered, and was surprised to find he wasn't just saying that to be social. It was true – at least most of the way. "Anything else you'd like to waste the work day talking about?"

"Well, I suppose if you're offering-"

James could hear the smile over the line and found himself smiling softly back as he took the handset to his window chair and sat down with it. Q had plenty to say about his job without ever going near whatever touchy subject lay at the heart of his work problems. As James went back to watching the smoky London rain roll down his windows he thought a very strange thought.

He could actually get used to this.

* * *

Sunday, Q called and James learned that his parents were actually elderly. His sister was some fifteen years his senior, so she usually disregarded any life advice he tried to give her. Q being born at all was something of a miracle, since his mother was almost too old to conceive. This made his parents love him more and his sister like him less.

His sister's name was Marnie. This was significant because it was the first new name Q brought up in conversation after realizing he had the wrong number. Eve and Riley were known, but to willingly bring up a family member's name? It was personal information. It was a show of trust. And James tucked it away in his mind for safe keeping now that he knew who the name belonged to.

After one long call, James got the gist of the situation. Marnie was dating Riley's son, Charlie. According to Q, his resemblance to a prince ended with his name. He was a pretentious prick who only wanted Marnie for her ass. "Erm… her assets. She's good with… paperwork?" Apparently, Q had been trying to convince his sister of how toxic Charlie and his father were for the past two years, but her favorite comeback was that Q was still working for Riley, so obviously he was no better judge of character than he claimed her to be – and oh, valiant Q, mum and dad's favorite little star, trying to save poor Marnie from the big bad wolf like some sort of fucking hero.

She never took him seriously, and thus they were locked in a standstill.

Shortly after that explanation and another where James learned Q had a soft spot for bad Chinese food, Q went to work and James went for a run. He ran all the way through the city to Prufrock. He looked around, scanning the crowd for possible couples or people that could be Q and Eve despite knowing Q was at work and Eve was only ever free when they met for coffee on Wednesdays. Then, since he was there, he got in line for a coffee.

The line was short considering it was the weekend, and he was at the counter before he had decided if he wanted straight black coffee or a latte… considering he wasn't going to be putting brandy in either.

"What can I get for you?" the woman behind the counter asked, a beautiful smile on her face. Her hair was shorter than a pixie cut and perfect white, and the same thought entered James' head that he thought every time he saw her. M would hate her. And that made James like her even more than her warm personality already did.

"Yes. Would you happen to know a man named… Q?" James asked and tried to smile pleasantly despite how silly he felt asking for a letter of the alphabet.

"Q?" the woman asked. Her name was Heidi, and she'd been working every time James had dropped in to do his silly searches. She was the lead barista, so maybe she'd seen Q and Eve enough to catch their names. Heidi's eyes widened a fraction and then returned to normal, and James knew the name registered with her. "Who's asking?"

"A friend," James said and his smile twitched. He leaned slightly toward her. "I just wanted to know if I could purchase his next drink."

"Well… he's not usually in on Sundays," Heidi said, warming to the idea but not about to give James Q's personal information. Good for her. "But if you want us to honor it the next time he comes in, I could make a note about it."

"That would be lovely. Thank you." James slid enough money for probably four drinks across the counter. "For him and Eve on their next visit. And I'll take a latte for today. Keep the change."

"Sure thing." Heidi picked up the money and then gave him a sly smile, as though she had deduced his purpose and deemed it worthy of a tease but wasn't going to make one. "And who should I say is his handsome benefactor?"

Shrugging on an air of unaffected grace, James tilted his head to the right and said, "James. If he even asks."

That got a laugh from Heidi as she rang up his latte. "Oh trust me," she said, "He'll ask."

A response may have been expected, but James didn't give one. He just stepped to the side and waited for his drink. He watched Heidi write her note and put it on James' change and then the whole bundle disappeared from sight under the counter.

When he had his drink, he sat against the wall and practiced picking up on details of the patrons without ever speaking to them. There was a painter in the other corner who did not want to be approached. She was reading a magazine over her drink and often paused to write something on her notepad. A man two tables away really wanted to close the distance and talk to her, and James was torn between hoping he did and wishing he wouldn't. He knew all too well what it was like to want to be left alone. He knew less what it was like to be anxious to go introduce himself to someone.

In the end, the man shook his head and left the shop without saying anything. Almost as soon as he was out on the street again, the painting woman glanced over at his table and let her gaze linger on his empty coffee cup. With a slight frown now adorning her lips, she returned to her magazine and notes.

And James was left puzzled. Had she wanted to be bothered by the man? She definitely put out the air of wanting solitude, but… perhaps she wanted to be bothered only by that specific man. It was an interesting conundrum, and not one James would figure out in the time it took to drink a latte.

"James?" a familiar voice asked and drew his attention. "I didn't know you frequented coffee houses."

"Moneypenny," he greeted and she took a seat. "I don't. I was out for a run and happened to spot it. I've heard good things about this place."

"You've heard?" she asked with a laugh in her voice. "From whom? You don't socialize with anybody." She waved a hand to brush away the idea and shook her head. "Never mind, actually. I don't want to know who whispers in your ear at night."

Maybe other people would be offended, but James found the jeer amusing. He wrapped both hands around his cup and leaned toward her. "Are you a gambling sort of woman, Miss Moneypenny?"

"If the prize is right," she said, a wicked gleam in her eyes and raised eyebrow as she tried to assess what he was playing at.

"Your next cup of coffee if you can guess how many people I've slipped into bed with, outside of a mission, in the last year," he offered and set his gaze to match her newly stern look.

"Now that's hardly a fair gamble, James," she scolded. "How am I to know how many poor men and women you've lured in with your sultry eyes and impressive pectorals? I could guess a hundred times and be wrong with every single one."

James lifted his cup and sipped at it. "Well, the prize is just a cup of coffee, after all. So I'm not surprised you won't take up the bet."

"Hang on now," Moneypenny said, reaching out to touch his wrist and keep him from drinking more. "What do I have to bet with? No gamble comes free."

True, he thought, and took a moment to decide on his prize if she failed. "Alright. For every wrong answer you give me, you owe me a drink – and I don't mean coffee."

Now she really laughed, full and loud. "That's poppycock, James, and you know it. The price of a drink is far more than my coffee. I forfeit the wager."

"Not even one go?" James asked, frowning. "You disappoint me."

Moneypenny groaned and rolled her eyes, but she smiled too. With another shake of her head, she conceded. "Fine. My guess is… I'll guess low based on your lack of shore leave and general antisocial personality, but give you some credit for the swagger and charm you exude. Ten. No. Six lucky lovers in the last year. Final answer."

Downing the rest of his latte while she spoke, James couldn't help but be amused. "Wrong." He set his empty cup down and stood up to leave. But before he did, he leaned close to her confused and curious expression and murmured, "Zero."

He stepped around her and into the aisle as she gasped in disbelief. He was ten feet away at the door when she said, "Not a chance. You're a liar."

Pausing, he turned back and shrugged. "You owe me a drink." And then he left her there, looking even more shocked and surprised than before.

* * *

Comments are more than welcome. Thank you!


	5. Chapter 5

AN: I meant to post twice a week but missed last week because I'm trying to move. So to make up for it, I'm going to try posting three times this week. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 5

With two more phone calls from Q and with plenty of time for reading and exercise, James' forced vacation wasn't half bad, but he wouldn't admit that to Mallory. The way the other man smiled at James when he walked into the office, however, would suggest he already knew. Keeping his face expressionless, the agent stood tall and waited to be debriefed, but Mallory seemed to be trying not to laugh and took an impossibly long minute to compose himself before speaking.

"So R was able to decode part of the memory card you brought back. We've got a few bank accounts to investigate, some prominent figures with possible links. All boring for you, I'm sure. But in the meantime, the search for Spectre and its logo has proved very interesting." Mallory paused when someone knocked on the door. Moneypenny popped her head in and Mallory waved for her to join them. When the door was shut again, he continued. "We're sending you State side again. Washington this time. The state, not the capitol."

"What's in Washington for a global terror syndicate?" James asked as Moneypenny handed him a folder. Her stare was unreadable, purposely emotionless, and he wondered briefly what she was focusing on so intently that kept her from any of her usual facial tics.

"I suppose that's really your job to figure out," Mallory explained. He motioned to the folder and then to Moneypenny. "Eve has all the details for you."

James' brow knit curiously as Moneypenny began speaking. "There are two possible targets. One is a university lab in Olympia where they're developing some sort of hypothetical weaponized fungus. Once the studies and tests are completed, the U.S. government could have their hands on an airborne virus capable of destroying entire fields of crops and desolating the soil for a generation at least."

"Seems a bit intense and counter-productive to the whole 'save the planet' idea their country is always spouting," James murmured, but there was a nugget of information still beckoning his attention that had nothing to do with the case.

"Well as far as we could tell, the original intent of the project was to find a way to reduce the progression of diseases in crops due to monoculture farming. But you know the world we live in, Bond. Everything can be turned into a weapon." She nodded her head in a way that James knew meant she was moving on to the next topic. He flipped to the next bundle of papers in the folder. "The other potential target is in Seattle and exceedingly more difficult to extract information about."

"So it's a person," James said, looking over the face staring out from the documents. "Professor Arnold. Professor of what?"

"Neuroscience," Moneypenny answered. Her piercing gaze locked with James' and they stared intently at each other as she explained. "He proposes that technology can be used to literally turn people against each other. Use the right tones, the right frequencies, and our precious mobiles could turn into death traps. Rather ridiculous, don't you think? The way something as innocent as a phone can affect someone?" And that was definitely a jibe. Well wasn't it? She knew about the calls with Q. She had to. She-

With a knock of his knuckles on the wood of his desk, Mallory drew the attention of the conversation back to himself. "As you can see, two very different but possibly devastating enterprises going on in Washington State. The data mined from the watch and from some digging into shared global intelligence by R&D give us enough to know that Spectre is interested in one or both of these endeavors. You are to gather intel and report back any suspicious activity."

"Sounds invigorating. Or like something a security camera could do remotely." James shut the folder and slid it under his arm, already bored and wanting the mission to be over.

"Perhaps, but if you value your lifestyle, I wouldn't suggest telling those in charge how you believe technology can replace you." Mallory shook his head, evidently disappointed in James' reaction. "But a distant camera can only capture so much. We need eyes on the scene, ears in the room. We need instinct and split second decisions. We need an agent. Now do you want the mission or don't you?"

"Of course, M," James said, body shifting into a perfect military stand.

Waving off the sudden bodily salute, Mallory said, "Good, good. I have a meeting with the Prime Minister in an hour, and I'll be reading him in on the Spectre business. He'll want a report of your findings when you return as well, so the sooner you return, the better. Now go get started."

Both James and Moneypenny bowed out then, leaving the office as a pair, although James held the door open and let her walk out first. As soon as the door was shut, however, he called out to stop her.

"Moneypenny," he said as casually as he could. "Did I hear M correctly? Your first name is Eve?"

"It is indeed, Mr. Super Spy," the dark skinned woman replied with a devilish smile. She walked over to her desk and leaned on the edge of it. "And why do you ask?"

"Because you know," James said, coming to stand near her. "About the phone calls. You're the reason Q called me. Am I right?"

She didn't answer immediately, just smiled like a proud mother cat. Then she reached out and brushed imaginary dirt from his lapel. "I may have told a white lie to get you both some social interaction. As I told you before, he doesn't have many friends," she admitted. "Can you blame me, though? With both of you so cut off from the world, in such desperate need of connection –" She paused to smirk up at him. "Well you can't tell me it hasn't had a positive effect."

"How do you figure?" James asked as she pulled her hand away. Had Q said something to suggest he liked the calls? Or that James did? No. Anything Q claimed about James would be mere conjecture on his part.

"Well you did buy us both coffees," she reminded. He must have looked surprised in some small way, because her eyes gained a new confidence. "I was quite touched. You can't imagine the look on his face."

"What did he look like?" James found himself asking before she could continue, and perhaps Moneypenny looked shocked at his urgency, but she could not be more stunned than James was. The anxiousness to hear how Q had responded to the gift was unexpected. He'd paid for the drinks with total confidence, but now he found himself insatiably curious and annoyingly self-conscious.

Smile softening, Eve shrugged. "At first he thought there must have been a mistake, but Heidi was certain. 'James' had stopped in and paid for our drinks. He almost dropped his wallet. Kept saying he didn't know how it happened, that never mind he knew exactly how it had happened, that he'd given you too much information. Ended up spending most of the lunch date in awe over the demonstration of your attentions to him. I'm pretty sure he's still flustered about the whole thing. In the end, he left still not able to comprehend exactly why you did it." There she paused for a moment before frowning and saying, "Why did you do it?"

Good question, he thought. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

"I make a lot of money and never spend it," he said. Then, after a beat so short that Moneypenny didn't even have time to give him a disbelieving stare, he added, "And what else are friends for?"

"Friends?" she asked softly, her entire posture softening. "Well now. Everything is going even better than I had hoped for you, isn't it? You have a friend."

"So it would seem," James agreed, the smallest of smiles tugging on his lips. "And I suppose I have you to thank for it all. You devious colluder."

He said it with no heat, and her proud little smirk returned. Then he wondered if she ever stopped to realize that she was about the closest thing to a best friend James had ever had. The force with which she was trying to encourage James and Q to become friends gave James the distinct impression that she honestly had no idea just how invaluable and important she truly was to him.

* * *

Before embarking on his flight to exciting and fun Washington State, James made a pit stop at home. He wanted to change his voicemail and check for any new message from Q, and he was not disappointed. The red light was blinking at him when he walked through the door, but he was proud to admit he did not rush over to it immediately.

"You know bloody well who it is," the message began and James was amused by the harried tone. "You went to Prufrock, you- You complete and utter git. You bought me coffee! James, I don't even like coffee! I like tea! Earl Gray with a spritz of lemon and a tiny bit of milk on occasion, and that's not even the point! Well perhaps it is, actually. I've either given you far too much information about my personal life or you're a spy or both. And really, James, if you were going to go to Prufrock, you could have at least waited until Wednesday when I'd have been there. Could have avoided this whole useless frenzy. You truly are a total wanker."

As the rant paused, James rubbed a hand over his mouth to stop his continuing amused smile. Moneypenny hadn't been lying about leaving Q flustered. His entire spiel oozed embarrassment as Q tried to hide how flattered and surprised he was. Being the cause of that made James feel… Well he wasn't sure how to describe it, but it was a feeling he wouldn't mind repeating.

"Anyway, thanks for the cup, I guess. But next time, just call me or wait until Wednesday. Honestly, James," Q added in a much calmer tone. Then, realizing what he'd just said, became embarrassed again. "Not that you have my number. I mean I could give it to you if you'd like. Maybe next time I catch you in person. Or not."

And after a hushed 'goodbye', the message ended. James let the silence reign for a few minutes, going over the message in his head a few times. Q's demeanor was never perfectly composed, but it appeared showing him personal attention ruffled his feathers more than normal. And James wondered if he should try the experiment again sometime – see if Q reacted the same, see if James got the same rush of pleasant emotions. What could go wrong, right?

But for the time being, James had a plane to catch and an organization to root out. So he hit the record button on his machine and made a new message for Q to hear when he called.

"Hello. You've reached James. If you have important information to relay, continue only if it is life or death." He thought back to Eve and the friend she'd mentioned before – before James knew she was the mastermind, before he'd admitted to being friends with Q, before it all came to light. "If this is Daniel, continue as planned. Call Eve if you're confused. Your messages may or may not be received in a timely manner."

Daniel, he thought. It was a good name, but it felt odd to say it in relation to Q. Q was Q. He called himself that. He didn't correct James when he said it.

With a grunt of agitation at himself, he erased the new message and rerecorded it to be closer to the original message. "Hello. You've reached James. If you have important information to relay, continue only if it is life or death. If this is Q, continue as planned. Your messages may or may not be received in a timely manner."

Simple and blunt. And Q.

Then he pulled out his mobile and brought up Moneypenny's contact. He edited her first name to 'Eve' and then opened a message to her. For a moment, he stared at the blank screen, trying to decide if he should ask her for Q's contact information – a last name perhaps or just his mobile number. In the end, he backed out and brought up the contact number for one of the only other females in the world that he kept in his phone.

He hit the call button. It only took two rings for the woman on the other end to answer.

"007, this had better be important. You're meant to be on a train to the airport, not lollygagging around at home," R said instead of greeting him. Of course she knew his location the moment he called. She was R.

"Yes, about that. Before I pop off to good ol' USA, I thought I'd ask a small favor," James said and lightly tapped the top of his old answering machine, its little red 'one' staring up at him unfazed.

* * *

Sorry it's a short one.

Please leave a comment if you liked what you read.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Going on vacation starting tomorrow so there won't be another chapter up until after Thanksgiving. Thanks for reading and enjoy your holiday!

* * *

Chapter 6

It was chilly in Washington. After all, it was the beginning of winter. James half suspected full snowfall before he left and to arrive home to frost on his windowsills. Pulling his coat on tighter against the wind, he took a precious second to check that his phone was on silent and also to make sure he hadn't missed any calls.

According to R, all calls directed to his house phone would now be forwarded to his cell phone, regardless of what sodding continent he was on or how frosty the air got. Surprisingly, she didn't ask him why he needed the favor done. She just set it up and then called him to prove it worked. As nice as that was, James worried what kind of favor she'd ask of him later in repayment.

But for the time being, he just knew that Q had not called since James' landing in Washington the night before. Now, with his phone switched to silent, he wouldn't hear the call even if he got it. But he couldn't risk his phone ringing when he snuck in somewhere. That would just be bad espionage.

Of his two possible targets, James had decided that Professor Arnold was the bigger potential threat. If the U.S. Government had a stake in the fungus research in Olympia, then the U.S. Government would be keeping a very close eye on that research. That was bad for espionage but also great for James, because that kind of attention meant anyone from Spectre would also have trouble getting to the fungus. Unless, perhaps, someone from Spectre worked for the U.S. Government.

But for now, James was working under the assumption that Spectre was after the easier, less government entangled target of Professor Arnold.

Getting onto the Professor's school campus was easy. So was finding his office. But he shared the space with another professor, and that would never be where he'd hide potentially damning evidence of working for a criminal organization. Regardless, James still let himself into the locked room and scanned through the good professor's files for anything that sounded suspicious. He found a file with a few things related to the professor's theory about the relationship between sound frequency and human emotion, but that was it.

He still took the file, though. Maybe someone back at MI-6 could find a message hidden in the language of the thesis. Arnold would probably notice it was missing, but as long as James wasn't caught snooping, he'd have no reason to suspect it had been stolen.

Then he was off across campus, calmly finding his way to the labs where Arnold taught and performed his studies. A cute college sophomore greeted him near the entrance to the lab and asked if she could help him with anything. She was in a lab coat, but under that she was just in jeans and a t-shirt. Her hands were gloved and she had sound cancelling headphones around her neck, like something a runway traffic director might wear.

"I've heard about the work Professor Arnold has been doing," James explained smoothly. His accent alone seemed to capture her entire attention. "And I was hoping to see it in action."

"Are you representing a grant or something?" she asked. "Because the professor recently received a separate grant, about a week ago, and I'm not sure if it might conflict with his eligibility for yours."

"Oh? Who awarded him his last grant?" James asked. They were alone in the lab, just the two of them and some test mice and a dog. Beyond the doors to the lab, James could faintly hear other scientists meandering to their own labs and classes, but no guards. No Professor Arnold. No Spectre.

"Well he usually likes to list all his supporters on the bulletin board over there, but this time he didn't. He said it was a private grant organization, though. New. Something about… Inspections?" the student guessed.

"Spectre?" James asked.

"So you're familiar with it, Mr…..?" the young woman asked, tilting her head to the side curiously and reaching up to hold onto her large headphones.

"Bond," James introduced with a smile, but did not complete it with his customary 'James Bond.' Instead, he let the surname hang in the air for a moment and then shrugged lazily. "And I have become aware of the organization lately. I'm very… interested in how they work and the projects they take notice of."

Something proud entered the young woman's expression and she tightened her grip on her headphones. "Well, Mr. Bond. It's your lucky day. Professor Arnold might not be here, but I am, and I've heard quite a lot about you. It'll be my honor, as a recruiting member of Spectre, to introduce you to our newest endeavor."

Her foot nudged a button at the base of the wall as her hands positioned the headphones over her ears, and then she just watched James. His stomach dropped when he realized she was onto his true intentions, realized she was part of the organization he was meant to gather information on, but it dropped farther still when he heard the click of that button.

At first he noticed nothing but took a step toward the door regardless. Then the mice began to screech and the dog was growling and getting to its feet and the mice were ramming against the sides of their cages and James' head started to hurt. He heard the most awful sound, but at the same time he couldn't say that he heard anything at all.

He stumbled back against a table, his heart rate rising, his mind feeling cloudy. Subconsciously, he pulled his gun, but when he went to aim it at the not-student, she wasn't in view. She was hiding somewhere in the lab. Her lack of appearance really made James mad, and the continued frenzy of the rats annoyed him to no end, and being sent to fucking Washington really pushed him to the breaking point. But his sudden anger and frustration had no target. He shouted at the empty lab, the logical side of his mind unable to remind him that the Spectre member was still in the room somewhere just out of sight.

The dog bit him when he got a little closer, and James found he had an outlet after all. Silencer on, he aimed his gun at the feral animal, which was lunging at James and choking itself on its collar and restraints. He pulled the trigger. The dog went down.

But James was still furious – at the dog, at the pain in his leg from the bite, at the noise that was not a noise, at the Spectre woman for vanishing, at the mice for their noise, at Mallory for this mission, at Eve for being devious, at Q for not admitting what Riley was really doing. He was livid and needed to punch or break or kill something else, something besides the already dead and pathetic lab dog.

He stumbled to the door, half-blind with rage, and when he entered the hall he found five other university students and employees locked in brutal combat. They shoved each other into walls, against glass display cases that cracked and shattered under the force, and into other people. It was an ugly, untrained brawl, and the rage in James wanted to be a part of it. But something about the civil, gangly way the others were fighting made an impression on James, reminded him about Professor Arnold's research and the button the woman had pushed, and he found a small spot of clarity through the mess of violent desires in his mind.

Clinging to it, fighting to hold on to it, James put his gun away and then stumbled and shoved his way out of the hall, out of the building, and as far as he needed to be before the stuffy feeling in his brain subsided and he was able to think clearly.

Professor Arnold's theory was no longer a theory, and that was a danger larger than any experimental fungus. Worse than that, Spectre was already on scene. How was James supposed to get back to the lab and retain his wits long enough to find what had produced the noise and figure out how to stop it? Or at least how to get it back to R&D at MI-6.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, intending to dial R, right when an incoming call lit up the screen. It was one of his forwarded calls from home. It was Q. James didn't really have time to talk about sisters and bad bosses, so he shouldn't answer. But wasn't Q a master of three different technology fields?

"Q," he answered, breath still heavy with exertion from fighting the urge to destroy everything he'd passed on his way out of the building.

"Well I was definitely calling to tell you about Riley and his newest scheme involving ghosts and how it's going to put me in an early, guilt ridden grave, but you sound to be in worse condition. What's wrong?" Q asked earnestly.

A huff of a laugh crossed James' lips. "You're a technology proficient, yes?"

"I'd say so, yes. How exactly does that help?" Q was undoubtedly trying to piece together James' labored breathing and a computer issue. Good luck with that.

"Hypothetically," James began, remembering that he technically wasn't allowed to talk about his work with civilians and proceeding to chuck the metaphorical rulebook through the metaphorical window. "If someone had managed to engineer a tone at a special frequency and it caused people to experience… extreme emotional effects… what might be done to counteract those effects or take down the system producing the tone?"

"Hypothetically," Q began, mimicking James, "a signal jammer would nullify any outgoing signal."

"Wonderful. Where do I get one or how do I make it?" James pressed, closing his eyes and tilting his face up to catch the sun.

"You can actually buy them at hardware or radio shops, or any shop with a technological lean," Q explained, and James actually took a step toward the university's radio tower before Q's voice stopped him again. "However, most of them are preset to jam signals at 800 MHz because that's the working frequency of a mobile phone. If the signal in your hypothetical differs from that, setting your jammer would be a literal guessing game."

"Damn."

He had no idea what frequency that tone was running on.

"Um. Hypothetically," Q continued, "you could be lying and this could not be a hypothetical at all. In which case, my supposition from the other day could prove fact, and you are, indeed, some type of spy."

"Q," James warned. Then he said, "Is there any other way to get around this frequency issue if I hypothetically don't know the frequency?"

"Well, I feel I need to point out that not knowing the frequency of a tone doesn't matter if you can't hear it." Q switched back to the topic at hand easily, and James thought back to the sound cancelling headphones worn by the Spectre woman. But he didn't have any of those, and the most likely place to get a pair was back in the lab where the frequency would get him again. "So either get a pair of sound cancelling headphones… or just blast some obnoxiously loud music in a regular pair. That should counteract the offending tone enough to get you to whatever machine is causing the noise without you falling under its effects. But again, this is merely a hypothetical."

"Of course," James agreed, looking around for students lying about on the grass or sitting at outdoor tables. He found one that suited his needs rather quickly.

There was an awed sort of breath from Q and then, "My God, you really are a spy or something, aren't you?"

"Hypothetically, I really can't violate the Official Secret's Act by divulging information about my employment to a civilian, regardless of relation." James strode over to the young man wearing a pair of Beats headphones and snatched up the young man's iPod from where it rested on the table beside him.

"Hey," the kid complained and pulled off his headphones.

"Relation?" Q questioned in that same flustered tone from when James bought him coffee.

"We'll talk later," James said and ended the call. To the student he said, "I need to borrow these. Thanks."

Then he took the headphones from the kid's stunned grip and quickly worked his way back toward the labs, where a small crowd of people was gathering outside, including several security officers who were speaking animatedly into their radios.

Ignoring the angry shouts of the student behind him, James scrolled quickly through the list of songs on the iPod and chose a rock band not known for pauses in their heavy metal deluge of music. Maybe James wasn't a fan of them, but world safety hung in the balance. So he slipped the headphones on, pleased to find them already minorly soundproofed, and hit play on the longest song in the album.

Security guards tried to stop him from entering, but he slipped through their grips and quickly dashed inside. He had only four minutes to fix this, after all.

* * *

The plane ride home was far more enjoyable than the one on the way to America… but that was undoubtedly because this time he had a private jet. Bringing prisoners back was complicated on a public airline, after all.

Once safely back in London, Professor Arnold was taken in for questioning, as was his little lab helper. James barely caught of glimpse of them as they were led away, and the two of them never noticed him watching. As James slid into the town car that would take him back to headquarters, he pulled his phone out and dialed his home number to check for any messages he may have received during the flight.

"Q, of course," the message began. "I assume you're off doing something heroic or mad or both. Hope the music idea helped…. For goodness sake, I was originally calling before because I wanted to shout at you some more about the coffee and to complain about work, but now I'm more concerned that you're slouched over in some ditch with a strange tone turning your brain into mush. I wish you'd given me more details. Hoping to catch you at home is unforgiving-ly nerve-wracking. You're a spy, aren't you? So you must have my number by now. Call me when you can and tell me you're alright, won't you? The silence is absolutely killing me."

Well he wasn't wrong. Now that the calls were forwarded to his phone, James actually did have Q's number. It was the newest unknown number in his calls list, and following Q's message, James made a contact page for the other man. Of course, calling him while in a company car wouldn't be a good idea, because he might say something to show he'd given Q classified information. But calling from the office would be no better. So he wouldn't be able to call until he got home. It was already past ten, the sky already dark, and by the time James got home it would be well past one or two in the morning. So then James would have to wait to call him until after the sun rose to be polite.

On the other hand, Q was worried, and James didn't think it was kind to keep him wondering for five or ten more hours.

"Hello?" Q answered after a few rings. He sounded tired, as though James was pulling him from a half-conscious state. Not full slumber, but something that happened when you were trying not to sleep when you desperately needed to.

"Did I wake you?" James asked, knowing the answer. His gut had that same strange feeling in it at hearing Q's groggy voice as it had gotten after hearing Q all flustered. Odd, indeed.

"James?" Q was definitely more awake now. "So you did have my number. I knew it. Anyway, how did it go? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. But you sound exhausted. Is Riley keeping you up?" he couldn't talk about himself, not in this car, not for hours, but he could talk about Q until the sun came up.

"As a matter of fact, he is. Him and his son, but for completely different reasons." And Q launched into a story about Marnie and Charlie and an unexpected pregnancy and wow the story was off like a rocket when it had only just begun. James leaned his tired head against the window of the town car as London flashed by outside and focused on the sound of Q's voice tumbling over the words with pent up frustration and ire.

It was good to be home.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you liked what you read, please leave a review. :)


	7. Chapter 7

I'm back from a packed vacation and holidays and moving most of my stuff out of my apartment. Went right into work again, so yay down time?! ANYWAY! Here's the next chapter and I'll try to keep on schedule now. ^_^

* * *

Chapter 7

When Wednesday rolled around a week after Washington, James was unencumbered by work. Professor Arnold was proving hard to crack, and his Spectre student was even worse. She'd nearly committed suicide in her cell the first night, so now she was in a soft, padded room and under constant surveillance, but James didn't expect her to crack. Anyone willing to die for their cause wouldn't betray that cause. Professor Arnold was different. He loved his work more than Spectre, and James suspected fear of the group was the strongest hinge on his jaw. That would rust eventually. It always did.

But that meant that Wednesday when Eve left the office to go meet with Q for lunch that James was waiting for her by the curb, newspaper in hand.

"I'm on lunch," she said as soon as she got level with him, her eyes out in the street and looking for a cabbie with its light on.

"What a coincidence," James replied, "I'm not even working."

With a put upon sigh, Eve turned to face him and leveled him with an expectant stare. "Honestly, James, you're about as transparent as the window in my office. You cannot come to lunch with me."

"I assure you, I had no intention of dining with you this afternoon," James assured and waved at the cab driving by behind her. It pulled over immediately and he opened the door for her. "We're just sharing a cab."

Suspicious but not wary, Eve slid into the cab and over to the far side so James could drop in beside her. Then they were off into the busy city streets, but that didn't mean she stopped throwing curious glances in James' direction. He delighted in confusing her, but halfway to their destination, he couldn't hold back his true plan.

"I think I'm quite fond of Prufrock," he admitted. "I eat lunch there rather often when I'm in the city."

"Liar," Eve fired back.

James lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "How would you know? You only ever eat there on Wednesdays."

"And how do you know I never-." She cut herself off, realizing the answer before she could finish the question. James truly had gone to the Prufrock for lunch multiple times, and Eve had never been there.

But today was Wednesday, and Eve always ate lunch at Prufrock on Wednesday. Even if he hadn't been doing his own recon, he knew as much from Q. At least once per conversation, he brought up his lunches with Eve – usually to remark that he hadn't told Eve whatever it was he was about to tell James. Q loved Eve, that much was clear, and he didn't want her to worry about him more than she already did. According to Q, it was best if Eve assumed his worst hardship was not eating or sleeping properly.

At that statement, James had the urge to point out that Q was doing his best to make sure James thought that too, but they both knew James had picked up on the things Q wasn't saying. James might not know the whole truth, but he knew enough to want Q set up on a different path. But, distracted as James was with Spectre, he hadn't made much progress on the 'save Q from Riley' plan.

"So if you're not going to have lunch with us, then what are you going to do at Prufrock?" Eve asked after a long silence. They were just pulling up to the curb.

"Honestly?" They locked eyes and he saw she did not find him amusing. "I thought I'd pretend to read the paper and eavesdrop." As if he needed to prove it, James held up his folded newspaper for her to see. The cab stopped and he popped open the door and got out while Eve paid.

"You owe me half that fare," she said when she stepped out. "Also, I think what you're doing could be called stalking."

"Or espionage. Astounding how often those two coincide." James motioned for her to enter the building and she rolled her eyes but did not argue.

For a moment, James did not follow. He hesitated on the sidewalk, putting space between them, and then stepped inside as smoothly as he could – which, everyone can attest, was quite smooth indeed. As his eyes adjusted to the new lighting, he cast his gaze around for Moneypenny and found her walking up to a small white table in the back.

James got in line for his drink and watched his colleague's back as she greeted her friend. When she sat down, James got his first look at the man sitting across from her. Man? James felt like his original assumption was closer to the truth. Q was slight in stature and his face held on strongly to his youth. He looked so much like the fledging university student James had originally labeled him based on his voice that the agent had to avert his eyes in shame.

Twenty-eight, he reminded himself. Twenty-eight. Only an eleven year difference. Eve was thirty and he thought there was nothing odd about his relationship with her. Why should it be any different with someone two years younger?

He didn't take another glimpse until after he'd ordered. As he waited for his drink, he looked over his shoulder toward the table.

Daniel was a dark haired young man with fair skin and a light dusting of freckles just above his lip on the left side. Despite signs of shaving on Daniel's part, James could make out the shadow of where Daniel's stubble was already growing in. And were those bags under his eyes or was James being overprotective?

Heidi handed him his coffee with a tiny wink and he thanked her kindly before making his way to the corner table. It was two tables away from Eve and Daniel…. Eve and Q. It was far enough away to seem commonplace and yet close enough to make out the stitching in Q's wool vest. Purple. Cute.

"-got a black eye out of the whole thing," Q was saying when James got within earshot, and he motioned toward his right eye – which was not blemished in the slightest. Q sighed and dropped his head. "I just- I don't know what more proof she needs to leave 'im, Eve. And what about the baby? I don't know what else to do."

"You can't do anything you haven't already done, Q," Moneypenny said consolingly and reached out for his arm. "All you can do is let her know you'll be there when she realizes she can do better."

"I've tried telling her-" Q began, raising his head but not his eyes.

"No." Eve shook her head. "Don't tell her you'll be there when she realizes he's an idiot. That'll just push her away. Tell her you love her. That's all. She'll get the rest."

The only response from Q was a heavy sigh. He lifted his cup of coffee to his lips and winced at the flavor as it went down, and James was reminded that Q preferred tea. Earl Gray with a spritz of lemon. The younger man's shoulder sagged under a new weight and he sighed again.

"Well we can't have you doing that," Moneypenny teased. "Sigh anymore and you'll turn into an old man before you're thirty."

Q brought his hand up quickly to rest against his chin and he bit his lip momentarily. Then he looked across at Eve and asked in a slight rush, "How old would you say is old, exactly? Since we're on the topic."

A soft laugh escaped Eve before she furrowed her brow in consideration. "I'm not sure. Forty is definitely pushing middle aged, so I suppose sixty? Why?"

"And how much older than you does someone have to be for your relationship- I mean friendship - to be considered irregular?" He lowered his hand to spin his cup and his eyes followed, embarrassment covering his face.

"Q, you're going to have to give me more to go on. What is this about, exactly?" Eve asked. While Q's eyes were down, she glanced over and made eye contact with James. Her expression clearly showed she didn't approve of him listening in to her friend's crisis. But really she should have thought of that before she arranged for the phone calls to start.

"Nothing." The dark haired man shook his head. "It's nothing. Silly, really. It's nothing."

James did not break his staring contest with Eve. Instead he just raised a quizzical eyebrow, and then it was her who rolled her eyes and sighed silently. When she looked back at Q, James saw disappointment and acceptance mix in her posture and expression.

"It's about James, isn't it?" she asked as the man in question went back to pretending to read the paper. "What was the difference again? Eleven years? I see nothing wrong with having older friends."

If James had been in the conversation, he would have smiled tightly at her for the word 'older' and then comeback with something about wisdom or experience. As it was, he had to pretend her jibe didn't annoy him. She probably knew anyway.

"Okay, sure. But what about-" Q trailed off, a frustrated groan escaping him. "Damn it, he's probably got me bugged or something."

Surprised disbelief jumped all over Eve's face. "He does NOT have you bugged. I'd wring his neck. What on Earth-?"

"You don't know what I know," Q murmured before shaking his head slightly and brushing off the topic. "No, but regardless, he's probably a horrible person in real life, right? I mean, knowing what I know, he must be well fit. Probably knows at least three languages."

Four, James thought proudly.

"Q-," Eve tried to interject, but her friend was on a train that would not be derailed.

"Bet he's over six foot tall. Blonde hair and bronze like those ridiculous romance novels Marnie used to read. And, I mean look at me, Eve! I'm barely ten stone. Even you could probably toss me in the Thames without a struggle. I mean, I'm- He probably has strings of lovers. Some kind of MacGyver misogynist, right?"

This time, Eve grabbed his wrist to shock him off his train of thought and made sure they had eye contact before she spoke. It seemed to rattle Q, but maybe that was a good thing.

"Stop," she said. "Deep breath. Now take a step back. You've never met the man in person, right?"

"Right."

"And he seems nice on the phone?"

"Well, yes. But-"

Eve didn't let him finish. She tightened her grip temporarily on his wrist and said, "Then stop doing calculations with fabricated numbers. There's nothing wrong with fancying someone older than you or someone you've never met."

Wait. What? James' grip on the paper remained relaxed through sheer willpower. This was not the type of intel he'd expected to gain from hooking himself up to this conversation. James knew he was good at seducing marks on the job, but to have somehow drawn Q in during a month's worth of calls to the point of Q fancying him? James hadn't been trying for that outcome at all. In that moment, he tried to think back over all the calls to figure out when he may have accidentally slipped into his amorous voice or exaggerated his interest in something to gain Q's affection.

He could think of no such moment. So when had this happened?

Q laughed sourly. "Don't call it a fancy," he said and ran a hand through his thick hair. "It's closer to… watching someone pull off ski jumping in the Olympics. Or a talented dancer."

"Admiration is admiration, Daniel," Eve pointed out. "And admiration is fine. Just don't get your hopes up too high."

James glanced more directly at the pair. Why not, he wanted to ask. Did Eve see some deficiency in James that made him unfit for Q's affections? He'd like the opportunity to defend himself. If Q wanted to like him, then he could.

"I'm getting mixed signals here," Q said, forehead knit in confusion. "Why not?"

"Just… What if he's not emotionally available? You said he's nearly forty and not married or seeing someone. Or perhaps he isn't into men. Or he's good for a laugh, but has problems with commitment." She said it like she didn't know James, but he felt every one of her points hit home. "I'll support you whatever you do. You know that. I'm just trying to look out for you. Like you with Marnie."

"Yeah?" Q frowned. "James doesn't hurt me."

"Not yet." Eve reached for Q again, but he pulled back. "And I hope that he never does. Just… keep an open mind. Alright?"

"Yeah, alright." But he said it begrudgingly and then shook his arm out to move his sleeve so he could look at his watch. "I have to be going. Riley'll have my head if I'm not back on time. Some big project coming in today that he needs me on."

He grabbed his bag and pushed himself to his feet, Eve slowly mimicking him.

"Q," she tried again. His coffee was still half-full.

"I'll call you later," he said and moved to leave.

But when he did, his bag caught on a chair at the neighboring table, knocking that table over into James' table and thus tipping James' coffee into his lap. The blonde man dropped his paper and stood quickly, the coffee cup smashing onto the floor.

"Oh my god!" Q exclaimed and quickly grabbed the napkins from their table to bring over to James. "I am terribly sorry. I'll buy you a new coffee."

For a moment, James debated not speaking, since Q knew his voice, but that would be even more awkward. Besides, Q wasn't expecting him to be James, so even if he recognized the voice, he probably wouldn't know from where.

"Not necessary," he said, taking the offered napkins and dabbing at his soaked shirt and pants. "But thank you."

"Are you sure?" Q asked as he righted the tables. Under his breath he mumbled, "This is why I never did athletics."

"Positive," James assured, and now a worker from Prufrock was entering the fray, and it was time to stop pushing his luck and make a getaway. "I was just leaving anyway. Excuse me."

With one last look at Eve, one lingering look at Q, and only a minor interaction with the staff, James turned and left the café. He knew when a mission was bust, and this one was bust in three ways. Q had directly interacted with him and heard his voice; Eve had gotten under his skin while expressing her doubts about Q's continued affections; and, most troubling of all, James found it more and more difficult not to look over at Q the longer the conversation went on.

The safest move was to abandon the position. And abandon he did. He didn't stop until he'd returned home and changed clothes. And even then he found a way to be disgustingly disappointed in himself, because though he was sitting in his arm chair and facing the city, his fingers just kept sitting by the handset on his side table, waiting for it to ring.

* * *

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	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

At work, James treated Eve no differently than normal, despite the way she side-eyed him every time he moved. Ever since Q admitted to liking James, it was like he was taking some sort of test of which she was the proctor. The only real problem was that James had no idea what the boundaries of the test were. So he tried to pretend he hadn't followed her to lunch, hadn't overheard the conversation, and that she hadn't insinuated he wouldn't make a good fit for Q.

Outside of work, he jogged; he visited Prufrock; he started trying to spot Q in crowds leaving the tube; but most importantly, he tried to find Riley. Q continued to call him, and he continued to skirt the issue of what Riley was up to. At first James had decided to ignore it. Civilians had problems, after all. But as the calls continued, he realized he needed to find out the truth. His instincts pushed him to find what was causing Q undue distress, to find out what seedy plans Riley had and put an end to them.

An easy Google search brought him two potential men in some form of real estate. That on its own was surprising – what were the odds? But no amount of googling got him closer to figuring out which one had a son named Charlie or Charles or any children at all. Without involving R&D, he was at a dead end when it came to easily accessible public files.

So he changed his jogging path to run by the offices of each Riley, see if he caught sight of anything that stood out from Q's descriptions of work and the people he knew there. He had just slowed to take a break near one of the buildings when his phone rang with a call from Q.

"Do you jog every morning?" Q asked after James told him what he was doing.

"Unless work keeps me from it," James admitted, breathing deep to slow his heart rate. "I'm sure you have daily routines."

"I suppose so. It's more like checking e-mail and coding for half an hour before work, though. Mental exercise. Not physical," he explained and then grunted. "Bugger. Sorry. Tripped. See? I can't even walk."

"Heading to work?"

Across the street, a couple was walking stiffly together. The woman was newly pregnant, and based on the arm movements of the man, they were having a heated discussion about it.

"Unfortunately. Riley wants to see what I've been working on. As if my professional work wasn't enough, now he's concerned about my personal work." It was early in the day, but Q sounded like he already wanted to be back in bed.

"Why would he be concerned with your personal work?" James asked, eyebrows knitting in concern as he watched the discussion across the street turn into a full argument. The couple stopped walking in order to fight.

"I wrote an encryption program for him a month or so ago – impervious to hacking for the most part. Then I started working on the decryption process. The one he has for it works, but you need authorization codes and passwords and such." Q sighed shortly, a sigh of mental exhaustion. "My new program would be able to decrypt my encryption program without all that. Somehow Riley found out I was working on it, so he wants to see it. I foresee him not being terribly pleased by it, since he didn't ask me to and he'll probably ask me what I wanted to use it for."

"And what did you want to use it for?" James asked, part of him hoping to hear Q wanted to finally take Riley out, expose him in some way to the authorities… but for what? James still didn't know what Riley was up to. Was Q in the dark as well?

There was a brief pause and then, "I'm not sure, honestly. I suppose I wanted to know… Well, the truth. I feel like there's so much in my life I'm not privy too, so much I'm unsure about, and this was one thing I could finally uncover. To know what exactly I was helping him hide." Q sighed nervously then. "Oh he will not be happy about this."

"Don't tell him," James suggested obviously. Across the street, the man smacked the woman so hard she fell back against the half-wall behind her. "Sorry, Q. I'll have to call you back."

"Don't bother. I'll be at work in a minute. I'll call you later if Riley doesn't murder me first," Q replied, and then he hung up before James. Well that was encouraging.

But for now, James wanted to focus on the fight. He hurried across the street and caught the man's hand as he pulled it back for another blow. The woman was crying and screaming profanities at the man, but she stopped when James stepped in.

"The fuck do you think you are?" the man shouted, turning on James and trying to land a blow with his other hand.

With very little effort, James spun the man around and slammed him down against the half wall. He tried to get away, but James had him pinned securely. After a deep breath of annoyance, James turned to face the woman, who was leaning against the wall in a stunned silence. Her mascara was running.

"What's your name, Love?" James asked.

"My…? Marnie," she said. Just as James had expected. Her dark curls, the contour of her cheekbones, and the shape of her eyes – this was Q's sister. So he was pinning Charlie then, and this was the right address.

"Well, Marnie, are you alright?" And he pointedly looked between her face and her stomach.

"Yeh. Fine. Who the fuck are you?" She was still leaning on the wall, her hand sliding down over her stomach. As her shock wore off, she began to harden with suspicion.

"Concerned citizen," James said smoothly. He looked down at Charlie. "Real men don't hit their women. I could break your arm for that, but it would seem a tad ironic, wouldn't it?"

"No, man! Get off me!" Charlie shouted, trying again to break James' hold, to no avail. "Just let me go, psycho!"

"Stop whining. It's pathetic." James pressed down, drawing a shout from Charlie, before he let go. Like the idiot he was, Charlie took a swing at James as soon as he was free, but James easily dodged and then swept Charlie's feet out from under him, sending him crashing to the concrete. "Stay down."

Charlie groaned on the ground, rolling onto his side and holding his head, but it was Marnie that intervened next. She grabbed James by the arm and jerked him back.

"The fuck, mate?" she shouted. "Leave him alone!"

"Apologies. I saw him smack you to the ground-," James began, but Marnie was a force to be reckoned with, just as Q often said.

"Yeah? Well I was handling it just fine, thanks. Didn't need your bloody help, so thanks but no thanks. Now fuck off, ya knob, and stop beatin' up my boyfriend." Her mascara was running and her cheek was starting to swell, but she was not deterred. Somehow, James had gone from savior to villain. Part of him didn't understand. The rest of him understood too well.

"Alright," he agreed, nodding his head to her with a tight smile. "Forgive my intrusion. I'll leave him to your capable hands, then."

No wonder Q found her stressful, James thought as he walked briskly away. Why would she stay with a man who hit her regularly? Why didn't she take the out when it was offered to her? If not for herself, then for the baby.

A block away, he paused in his walk and laughed sourly. He sounded like Q.

Just then his phone began to vibrate and he pulled it from his pocket. Q's name stared out at him from the screen. Odd. Hadn't Q been going in to work? Had something important happened? Was Riley truly going to hurt Q?

"Q?" he asked in greeting, trying to hide the edge in his tone caused by worry. "Is something wrong?"

"What? Oh, no. Nothing the matter," the younger man said. James would have said he caught Q off guard, but it was Q who called him, not the other way around. "I just… Well…? Have you- Have you noticed how strange the Thames looks this morning? I suppose it's unremarkable, really, but I don't pay it much attention most days. The sky is quite pale this morning, and I noticed the contrast. What do you think?"

With a half chuckle, James turned to look at the river – the dirty, freezing snake that wove its way through the city. What a thing to call about. It sounded as though Q had pulled the topic out of nowhere, which only made the call that much more ridiculous, and that much more endearing. A call with no purpose after they'd only just hung up.

"Yes," he said at length. "Quite the ghastly contrast."

"Yes," Q echoed, and he sounded slightly distracted. With his next breath, he sounded relieved. "Yes, quite."

Relieved about what? James couldn't connect the dots. "Don't let Riley toss you in, though. Wouldn't want you freezing to death."

"Course not," Q said, some of his usual cockiness seeping in. "But I'll leave you to your jog, then. Wouldn't want you freezing either. I'll call you later."

"Until later," James agreed. When they hung up, he stayed staring at the water for a few moments more, trying to draw from it the meaning behind Q's odd tones. It just sloshed around unhelpfully, like a particularly troubling pet, until James shook his head and turned away from it.

As he returned to his morning run, he thought back to Marnie and to Q's conversations about her. Maybe she was a lost cause. She seemed irrevocably attached to Charlie, and James saw no way around that. Eve's advice would have to stand – no one would change Marnie's mind except Marnie. Q just had to be there for her, and James had no doubt in his mind that Q would make sure she knew it and be damned good at keeping the promise.

Thinking back on Q made him think about Eve and he sighed out a foggy breath. He'd be seeing Moneypenny at work today. No avoiding it. And he still didn't know what she was analyzing him for.

How aggravating.

* * *

There she was, sitting at her faux wood desk. The desktop screen, the potted plant on the corner of the desk, the folder organizer beside it – nothing kept her from having a clear view of the entire room, and they definitely didn't block her view of the chairs against the wall. She was typing something with fierce concentration, but not so fierce that she couldn't spare him a glance at the end of each sentence she wrote. Sitting in his uncomfortable waiting room chair, James started to wish he had a tranquilizer dart in his pocket, because he'd rather drug Eve than kill her, and he was getting tired of her staring.

After one more glance, he sighed and stood up. Mallory was late and this was driving him insane.

"Moneypenny," he said, walking to the desk.

"007," she answered.

"Would you kindly explain the rules of the test you're giving me? Because the constant scrutiny is frankly infuriating." He fixed his jacket's set before pulling it together in the front and buttoning it.

"If I were giving you a test, 007, I'd be sure to let you know," she said in way of a denial. Before he could argue the point, she added, "I'm merely evaluating what I already know about you."

So a test then, he thought, but kept the point to himself. No need to start an argument over semantics.

"Judging if I'm too old, too emotionally unavailable?" he asked. Her eyebrows rose in surprise, and he knew he'd hit the target so he plowed on. "I suppose I'm just grazing the mark on your 'middle aged' scale, after all. And you'd be right that I haven't been with anyone seriously in quite some time. And I do hurt people for a living. So what's the final conclusion then, Miss Moneypenny? Do I rank too lowly in your esteem to be worthy of a friend's admiration?"

For a beat or two, she said nothing, just regarded him with her piercing, beautiful eyes as though seeing him for the first time in years. James didn't know if he preferred the silence or her jabs from her last lunch with Q. Both were uncomfortable.

"I think very highly of you, James," she finally said, words careful. "More so than any other agent, in or out of the Double O program. And I think the world of Q. He was my friend in secondary school when no one else would be. He's had fancies in the past, and I've watched him burn out when they rejected him. I think highly of you, but I'm worried about how your interactions will end."

"How so?" James asked. If she thought highly of both of them, then why did she look concerned?

"Do you fancy Q?" she asked bluntly, her expression serious.

The question was so sudden, and James hesitated to answer. Did he fancy Q? They'd only ever spoken on the phone and that one short moment at Prufrock. The calls were certainly a bright point in his life lately, and he looked forward to hearing about Q's day, about what projects he was working on, about his family. But did he fancy him? Was it just friendship or did he feel more?

"You see?" Eve continued when James failed to answer. "If he likes you and you don't like him, then his feelings will go unrequited. He'll either confess and be rejected - which he would take hard. Knowing him, he'll be lost in programming for weeks before he recovers. – Or he'll never say anything and suffer quietly while you pretend not to know. Both aren't pleasant for Q emotionally."

"And if I do? Fancy him, I mean," James said, adjusting his cufflinks.

Eve's smile was sour. "Don't make promises you can't keep, James. This is not a situation that you can fix just by being obstinate with what's expected of you. If you fancy him, then do so. But don't lie to yourself, to Daniel, just to prove me wrong. It's not fair to anyone."

The door on James' left opened and Mallory was standing there, oblivious to the conversation he was interrupting.

"Ah, 007. Come in. Sorry about that. Call to the minister ran over. You know how it is," and he left the door ajar as he walked back to his desk.

James and Eve continued their staring contest as he spoke, and when he walked away, it continued on for another few heartbeats. Eve's stare was a warning, both in his favor and against him. And for his part, James didn't know if he could honestly tell her she was wrong for giving it.

"Come along, 007," Mallory called out, and James turned briskly away from his friend to join his master in the office, shutting the door resolutely behind himself.

* * *

"Favorite color," Q said. "Blue."

"Silver," James said.

The order of the evening was twenty questions. Riley had apparently given him a very hard time over the new program, and after several long hours at work, Q wanted an easy chat. Nothing serious. James could understand. Mallory, for all his usual calm, was stressed from the lack of advancement in the Spectre case. The minister was breathing down his neck, and so he was breathing down everyone else's.

But as much as James could understand the need for relaxing, pointless conversation, he didn't miss the cues in what Q wasn't saying. The way Q spoke about Riley resembled the way he spoke of his sister and Charlie. James didn't want to assume Riley was hurting Q, but it was hard to keep his mind from connecting the pieces that way. Too often on assignment, what contacts weren't saying was just as important as what they were, and he'd definitely run into a situation of a similar sort down in Mumbai some years ago.

Like James needed anymore reason to find Riley and- and what? MI-6 wasn't exactly going to condone the killing of a British citizen, especially over a domestic disturbance. And how would he threaten Riley? Q would find out and undoubtedly be upset that James had stepped in at all. He wanted to handle the situation on his own – he said as much whenever he told James he didn't want to discuss the finer points of working for Riley.

Without a plan, James had to settle for being Q's outlet after work. He could do that. Q was doing the same for James, after all.

"Favorite number." Q paused to consider. "Six. The smallest perfect number."

James smirked. "Seven," he said, careful not to sound too amused by his own joke.

"Why?"

"Would you accept it if I just said 'because'?" James asked. He was standing on the roof of the MI-6 building, the sun going down in the distance. All his work was done but he didn't want to go home quite yet.

"Fair enough. We're all allowed to have our quirks, aren't we? Least favorite number," Q continued. "Zero or one. I see enough of those in coding for a lifetime."

"Seven," James repeated. It was possible to hate his codename at the same time he loved it.

"But-," Q began before catching himself and sighing. "Just because, right? Okay then. I won't pry. Life of a spy and all, I'm sure there's a confidential reason. I won't be the one to get you in trouble with the government."

That had James smiling too. Q accepted that James was a spy so easily. There was no judgment, no panic, no sweet talking him for information. There was very little change in Q at all with the gaining of this new information – although James had never exactly confirmed that he was indeed a spy. Q was going off conjecture, but still. Silence was a type of confession too.

While Q searched for a new thing to quiz them both about, James recalled Q's worry in the diner – that he had been bugged – and he thought about Q's concern about James using his spy network to figure out pieces of his life.

"I didn't look into you," James said, breaking into Q's train of thought about favorite foods or fruits or chocolate. "I set up call forwarding and got your number from that."

"Oh." Was he disappointed or just confused?

"I thought it was important that you know. No government programs were used to look into your personal life – at least not by me." He may want to know more about Q, but he wanted Q to tell him most of it. Eve was like a giver of breadcrumbs, but it wasn't enough, and he didn't want to abuse her access either.

"Then how-," Q began and then there was a loud sigh. "No, that's good. And rest assured, I also have used no government technology to snoop into your life. Cross my heart and hope to not get thrown in the Thames ever, but especially now."

"Yes, beware of dropping temperatures," James agreed with a chuckle. Someone who was not Moneypenny poked their heads out onto the roof and called for him, for 007, for the agent and not the man. Ah, work beckoning even in after hours. "I have to go. I'll talk to you soon."

"Until later," Q said, a small smile in his voice as he mimicked James from before.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review!


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"You're a very logical person, Moneypenny."

"I'd like to think so, James."

"You have a few good friends, I assume."

"Yes, and you do not."

"I have a few good friends."

"Oh really? Who?"

She was down in the training wing, signing out a practice gun so she didn't lose her edge. She accepted the gun with a brief smile at the attendant and then turned to head into the firing range. James gave a half wave at the man behind the glass but did not grab a weapon.

"You. Q. Tanner," James listed.

She laughed loudly. "Tanner? You had drinks one time and that makes you friends?"

"Yes," he answered blandly. She turned, caught off guard by his straight answer and studied him for a moment. It wasn't just drinks. It was the ease with which they could work together, whenever they happened to pass in the offices or halls. But yes, it was settled with one outing for drinks.

"Where are you going with this, 007?" she asked and stepped into her little cubicle of a range.

They were alone so far. It was the wrong time of day for agents to be in practice, assuming they were in the country at all. In a way it was private, despite the attendant. Eve began checking and loading her gun.

James leaned on the wall of her aisle and tried to balance nonchalance with straight forward seriousness. He could do things like that. "If Q's such a good friend, why have you not brought him to the agency?"

She almost dropped the magazine. When she looked at him, her eyes were intense and cold. "Excuse me?"

"Come tomorrow, he'll get his third degree in technology and engineering. He's got a sharp mind, quick wit. Bloody stubborn as hell, which would serve him well here I think," James said as Eve snapped the magazine into the chamber of her weapon. There was something vaguely threatening about it. "To top it off, he hates his fucking job and it's quite possible he's being used for less than reputable purposes."

"Don't, James," she said, shaking her head.

"Don't what, Eve?" James asked, keeping his tone calm and conversational. "Turn a blind eye to someone who could be an irreplaceable asset to R&D? Listening to him talk about his programs, I believe he'd turn that place into a true I.T. department."

She let off a shot at the target without using the earmuffs. The sound echoed off the walls, but neither of them flinched.

"I don't want to bring him into this world," Eve snapped. "Surely you can understand that desire. Our world is dangerous, and you never truly get out. Everyone you know, everyone you care about has potential to face blowback if things go sideways. Why would I want to drag Daniel into this?"

He let her have her moment, gave a second or two of silence in respect for her ideals. Then he frowned and said, "But what if it made him safer than he is now?"

Forehead furrowed in suspicious concern, she lowered her gun and asked, "Why? Has he said something to you? Is he in trouble?"

James shook his head. "He won't say, but I'm fairly certain Riley is emotionally abusing him, if not more. He shows the signs of abuse in his diction and word choice. First and foremost, he's usually witty and sarcastic, but not if he's just dealt with Riley. He's subdued."

"You're worried about him," Eve noted with a nod. "Fine. I'll trust your instincts and check in on him. I'm not saying I'll hand him to M for a test run," she amended when James started to smirk. "I'm just going to make sure he's alright. You're not wrong. He's always been an absurdly stubborn sort of idiot."

"Good," James said. He waited for her to start mentally prepping to train again, waited just until she was a moment from covering her ears with the mufflers. That's when he said, "And this life isn't so bad. You've got a new boyfriend, after all."

She froze. "How did-?"

Now he smirked openly. "Sometimes I feel like you forget I earned my number, Miss Moneypenny. They don't just hand them out to anyone with a pretty face."

She scowled at him. "Oh shut up," she said, donning her earmuffs and turning to the target. "009 isn't that pretty anyhow."

James chuckled lowly and watched her let off a few rounds before he quietly took his leave.

* * *

The plan was to stop by Riley's place of business the following afternoon and sneak a peek at what was inside. Maybe he'd listen at doors or nab some equipment from R&D so he could listen in from outside. But that plan never happened.

Eve called him as he was just beginning to prep himself for the journey. He'd planned to go in a suit so Riley would unconsciously trust him more – big money meant bigger influence meant less restrictions.

"You were right," she said. "Don't gloat. But you were right."

"About what exactly this time?" James asked, picking up his tie and trying to decide if it was a step too far. Would it be better to go without the tie?

"About Q," she said. "I dropped by his place in Haringey and he looked like he'd been in a brawl. I mean, he had a busted lip. He swears it was from face planting off a sidewalk, but he's not a brilliant liar."

"As much as it makes me want to go punch someone, why are you calling to tell me this?" Forget the tie. Forget the plan. Maybe it was best if he didn't go over right now. He might kill someone on accident. Or on purpose. Really it would be his word against any witness. More reason not to go.

"Because I'm not stupid, James. I noticed signs about the problem too, but I ignored them for my own pride's sake." She was angry, as she should be, but she sounded sad too. "We need to get him away from Riley. I don't care what noose Riley has around his neck."

"We?" James asked, his own pride swelling at her admission of needing his help. "How are _we_ going to help?"

He imagined her biting her lip, more in aggravation and hesitation than insecurity. "You brought up bringing Q into the agency. I'm sure you had some ideas about how to get him approved."

Completely scrapping his previous plan for the day, James started undoing the buttons on his pressed, white shirt. With a smile he said, "In fact, I do, Miss Moneypenny. In fact, I do."

Then he explained the algorithm Q had created for Riley, the one that could encrypt things so well that only the key could unlock them. And of course, Q had also created the key.

"I believe the reason for Q's split lip is that decryption key, and I believe that is also the very thing we need to get him into MI-6." He didn't take his shirt off, just let it hang from his shoulders. The rest of his week was looking brighter already, even without killing Riley. He went to the kitchen and found a good bottle of scotch he'd picked up in southern Scotland a year back. A short glass later and he had himself a drink. "Set Q up with R, have him decrypt the drive I brought back from France. When he can do what no one in R&D can do, then he'll have his qualifications."

"I especially like the part where you were vague on the detail of how I convince M to let him near the drive at all," Eve said and he chuckled.

"You're smart. You'll figure it out," he said. "You always do."

* * *

Two days passed with little to help with the case against Spectre. They still had no idea who was pulling the strings or how large the organization truly was. Really they just knew it had minor ties in four countries. On a global scale, that wasn't too terrifying, but they needed to cut it off before it got any worse.

And two days passed before Moneypenny was able to convince Mallory to let an unknown civilian into the R&D lab to run tests on a highly confidential piece of national security tech. He still seemed dubious the morning of day two when Q was sent for under the guise of the police needing his help with a mugging he witnessed. Not that he actually saw a mugging, but Q played along brilliantly despite having no idea what they truly wanted. Or so James was told.

"He'll be here any minute," Mallory was saying, shuffling papers around on his desk like a man about to face his furious wife and not a nobody twenty-something computer wiz. "God, what was I thinking?"

"Sir?" James asked, unsure why his boss had called him to meet. Had he wanted a sounding board for his breakdown?

"Oh never mind that," M said, more to himself, and then looked up at James, who stood perfectly in the center of the room. "Eve tells me you know the boy too. You trust him?"

"Immeasurably," James said. He watched Mallory's face go lax with shock before he smirked and added, "Sir."

The spy master cleared his throat and nodded. "Well I suppose that does it then," he said. "And if the Minister finds out and is looking to put some heads on the chopping block, well, all the best, 007, but you'll be sorely missed."

James chuckled then. If the minister found out and didn't like it, there would be far more heads to worry about than James', and Mallory would be top of the list, but they both knew that. The two older men exchanged tight smiles, the closest they ever truly got to being friendly.

The door was cracked behind them to announce anyone's presence since Eve had left her station to go retrieve her friend from the uniforms downstairs. James tilted his head in the direction of that crack as voices became noticeable on the other side.

"-can't believe you never told me!"

Q was in the building, that was for certain. James couldn't help the way his smile grew genuine, but he was focusing on Q's voice and missed the curiosity on M's face.

"I already told you, I wasn't allowed," Eve was saying. "And anyway, you're here now, so stop complaining. You're going to prove you know what you're doing and help save the country or the world or whatever, and then you're going to come work with me and everything will be fine."

"Fine? Fine?! Are you listening to yourself? I'm in the MI-6 building! They're probably listening to me right now and I'm going to say something stupid and they'll shoot me for it." Wow he was more nervous than James had expected. That was adorable.

"Oh shut up, Q. No one's going to shoot you. You'll be fine," Eve said. Their footsteps stalled just outside the door and James imagined Eve was fixing Q's collar and hair like a child about to go to school for the first day.

In the office, M regained James' attention with the clearing of his throat. "Before I dismiss you, 007, I did actually have a mission for you," he said and held up one of the folders he'd been shifting around. James took it promptly and flipped open the first page.

In the hall, he heard a hushed, "Did he say 7?"

"All the information is in the file. Your flight leaves in just over three hours – just enough time to get you a bag and goodies from R and get to the airport." M took a seat, his back rigid. To James it looked like he was overcompensating, trying to look as imposing as possible for when Q took his first steps into the life of espionage. "And, 007, do be careful. You could be walking right into the teeth of the snake."

"When am I not safe, Sir?" James asked and turned for the door.

"For your sake, I'm hoping that's rhetorical," M replied.

James opened the sliding door completely, revealing the two new people. Eve looked only mildly anxious. Mostly she just looked determined. Q, meanwhile, looked like he was being arrested and he was guilty. When the door slid open, his eyes jumped up to look at James' face, and one would think James was an executioner.

Okay, so in a way, maybe he was. Not the point.

"Bond," Eve greeted. "Heading out?"

"Moneypenny," he answered, forcing his eyes away from Q's gorgeous features. "As a matter of fact, I am. Got a plane to catch. Shouldn't be gone too long, though." And he couldn't help a quick second glance at Q as he said it. The younger man's eyes were flickering between James and M behind him. "Quick business."

With a coy upturn of her lips, she said, "You always say that. And then you end up lost in Mumbai for a month."

Instead of rising to her bait as he usually would – he did very much enjoy their banter – he just shrugged and held up his wrist with a watch to show he needed to go. He found himself too aware of Q to properly think of responses without being acutely conscious of what Q could think of him for saying them.

Back in the office, M cleared his throat again. "On your way, 007. Moneypenny, you can bring him in now."

"Right away, M." Eve turned serious. "Be careful, Bond."

The agent nodded to her and took several steps passed the two, willing himself not to look back at Q once more. When he returned from his new assignment, then they could talk. They could be properly introduced. Q would be an agent and they would have plenty of time to get to know each other in person. Now was not the time – not when Q was headed into possibly the most intense and important interview of his life.

"Ah- Don't be an idiot," Q's voice called out suddenly, causing James to freeze and turn on his heel. Eve was partway into the office, but Q hadn't moved to follow yet. He was looking back at James.

Both other agents looked confused or stunned, but James somehow understood immediately. It was just one more 'be safe', but said in Q's commonplace way. He smiled lightly. "Understood," he said. "Good luck."

Then James was walking out with his file and Q was walking in with his computer, and in three hours there would be thousands of miles between them. But James' mind was already thinking several days ahead, to when he could come back and finally shake Q's hand and study the freckles on his face and watch him when he laughed or worried his forehead into creases and-

Oh bugger. It was worse than he'd thought. He was actually well gone over this mysterious genius, wasn't he?

* * *

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	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

When did that happen?

James pondered the question on his flight to Morocco. When had he become so deeply attentive to Q that seeing him twice gave James daydreams about what he must look like when tired or stressed or laughing out loud or smugly impressed with his own genius. When? Or perhaps more appropriately – how? And hadn't he just been pondering this same question about Q a short while ago?

It was all conversation. Q was a voice in his ear, not a face on a screen or across a table. He was as good as a GPS, only with better topic points. So how had James developed feelings for him? And he had, he realized, developed deep feelings. He cared about Q's wellbeing, and it wasn't just a moral thing.

He cared if Q was being abused for Q's sake. He intervened in a domestic couple's squabble because he recognized it as Marnie and wanted to protect Q's family, to protect Q. He kept trying to find Riley so he could figure a way to get the man arrested or deported or whatever it took to get Riley's claws out of Q.

He'd purchased coffee for Q and cared about how Q liked his tea and about Q's relationship with his best friend. He cared that Q not think James had overstepped boundaries and pried into his personal life. He desired Q's good opinion and trust despite not requiring it for any type of mission.

And he trusted Q. Perhaps it was the anonymity of the calls, of being simply a voice in Q's ear, but he'd told Q details about his case in Washington and answered all of his silly questions about favorite colors and foods. To many, the questions weren't a worry, but for a spy? And James had always answered truthfully, even if his explanations had been vague.

In his head, he heard Eve. She was saying that sometimes there was no explanation for attraction. Sometimes the universe just knew what it was doing, and we must all realize we're not really in control at all. We just accept that and move on. "Sorry. I have a friend who says crazy things like that."

A friend named Q.

The plane landed in Morocco right on time, and then James' thoughts were pulled to the mission at hand. After he and his things were settled in a hotel room, James pulled out his phone and called command.

"007, I expect you landed without incident," R answered stiffly.

"You sound upset about that," James answered, although he didn't honestly care if R liked anything ninety percent of the time, including now.

"Not about your flight, 007. I'm upset about your pet project," the woman grunted. "This is my department, Bond. I will not have you trying to go behind my back and show me up. I worked hard to get here, just like everyone else in the department. For your little consultant to just waltz in with his laptop and-"

James interrupted her with, "So Q decrypted the drive then." It wasn't a question.

She stopped her complaint and stayed silent for a telling amount of time. Of course she was upset. Q had done in a few short hours what none of them could do in a month. Even someone like James could understand the jealousy and defensiveness that would come from being shown up like that. But for now, the important part was getting the information found on the drive.

"Yes," R finally admitted.

"So do we have more to go on now than we did when I left? Because 'see what you can find in Morocco' isn't much of a mission." Okay, so they had someone for him to tail, but the file had been so thin, so vague, that he knew they'd been grasping at straws.

"Mr. White could be your way in. Q unearthed the jackpot of all jackpots. It's a list of all Spectre agents and some locator information. Basically, at the heart of it, you seem to have brought back an address book of the new century. Congrats, 007." And she made it sound like this was somehow unimpressive. Sounded like grade A espionage to James. "Anyway, the hierarchy was easy to discern once we had the names and other information. You remember Blofeld – the man hosting the meeting in Paris. Ernst Stavro Blofeld. Well based on the new data, he's the head of this snake – or this kraken, I suppose. And an initial search shows he was once part of the French Foreign Legion, so I hope you've kept in practice with your French. Mr. White was also in the Legion, and primary analysis suggests he could be Spectre's number two."

"So follow him around until he reveals Blofeld. Exciting." James rolled his eyes and walked to his window. "Do we have a known location on Blofeld?"

"No. He's dropped off the map entirely. The last known location for him besides Paris was noted two years ago, but it was in Morocco, and Mr. White was seen in the country around that same time period." Mid-sentence, James' phone beeped to inform him of an incoming call, and looking at the screen revealed it to be from Q, but he couldn't hang up on R for a personal call. James would call him back. "Mr. White is a regular sight there, so he should be simple enough to find. Track him to Blofeld, and we can close this case."

Q's call was officially in voicemail. "Consider it done," James said. "I'll find Blofeld in 48 hours or less. Feel free to time me."

"Oh trust me," R said, genuine agitation in her voice, "I will." And she hung up on him.

He knew acting high and mighty, like he was above her reproach, only made her angry, and yet he couldn't stop himself from goading her on. She was so easy to annoy. Working in espionage, she should really work on that.

After an appropriate amount of self-gloating time had transpired, James descended from his narcissism and returned his attention to his phone and Q. There was a new voicemail waiting for him, so he hit play on it and brought the phone to his ear. Sometimes it was strange to listen to voicemails made by Q these days. Ever since forwarding his calls to his mobile, James hardly ever missed one.

He waited through the automated message until, finally, Q's voice came on the line.

"James… or 007… I'm not sure calling you by first name is appropriate at the moment." He sounded subdued, almost anxious. "I- I may have done something far worse than I ever imagined. I created encryption software for Riley to securely hide his files from any prying eyes. I knew it wasn't for architecture or building plans, but… I suppose I was stupid enough to think he was hiding money laundering or gambling. But at least I can say I knew it was illegal."

Q took a deep breath to steady his words, but James could already hear where the message was going. He didn't like it, and he didn't like the attitude seeping through Q's words. It was a regretful thing, a guilty thing, and Q wasn't guilty.

"I decrypted the files you wanted. Eve told me it was all your idea – get me away from Riley and doing what I truly want to be doing, what I should be doing. And you're right. You're both right. I should be using my skills for something good. But do I deserve to? Because I've done something so terrible, it doesn't bear thinking on. But, it's true. I decrypted your drive in minutes, because I had the key. It was encrypted with my own software, with the software I gave to Riley." Agitation had slipped into his tone, a righteous sort of anger. "How dare he? How dare I? I can no longer pretend to be blind. I will accept your offer of joining MI-6, supposing the offer still stands in light of my apparent treason. But first, I will fix what I started. I'm heading to work for the last time, and I'm going to erase all traces of my program and plant a virus to erase it on anything else Riley tries to plug into our systems. I'm going to fix it here, and then I'm going to help you stop it wherever it's spread to."

A cold feeling was settling in James' stomach and he knit his brow tight as he stared out at the hot Moroccan morning. No, this was bad.

"Wherever they've sent you, stay smart and don't let some neophyte shoot you," Q said. "I'll see you when you're back on British soil."

The call ended and James immediately hung up and then called Q back. The voicemail symbol glared back at him from his phone, angry that he hadn't waited to erase the message. The phone rang and rang with no sign that Q was currently on the phone, and yet the call eventually diverted to voicemail. Cursing, James tried again, but the result was the same.

Starting to feel desperate, he switched tactics and dialed Moneypenny. It rang five times before she finally picked up, and for a moment he worried he'd gotten her voicemail too.

"James?" she asked, clearly not expecting a call from an agent in the field to her personal phone.

"Find Q," he said. "He's heading to work. Find him and stop him."

"What? Why? He said he was going to resign. Isn't that what you want-" But he barreled through her delay, his voice growing louder.

"He's going to get himself killed if he's not careful," he snapped. "If Riley works for Spectre, as Q has proven he does, then Q is walking into a precarious situation. Q's gone to erase Riley's servers. Once Riley realizes that Q is trying to sabotage him, that Q planned to leave him for MI-6, then Q is nothing more than a liability. Eve, get someone to him now."

"Fine." She took a moment where he hoped she was picking up her office phone or putting out an alert to an active agent in London. "But you two are going to properly explain what the hell is going on once he's back in custody."

"Ask him whatever you like once he's restrained at headquarters," James said. "Call me when you have him."

He hung up before hearing her agree and shoved his phone into his pocket. With a tense sigh, he ran his hands through his short hair. Why was Q such a spastic fool when he was such a brilliant genius? Why did his brain not run the numbers and the chances and realize how dangerous a situation he was putting himself into?

"Idiot," James hissed into the quiet of his room.

In the silence that followed, he didn't know if he was referring to Q or to himself.

* * *

By lunch, James was sitting in a small café eating a spongy sandwich and wishing he hadn't ordered anything at all while he watched Mr. White barter with someone across the street. True to R's supposition, the man had been easy to find. Morocco covered a lot of ground, but their intel was finally padded enough that they'd narrowed it down to one city. After that, it was almost like Mr. White wanted to be found.

On a normal day, James would feel productive and accomplished. Not today. Because it had been five hours since Q's voicemail and Eve had not called him back.

James glanced down at his sandwich, debating if he wanted to finish it. He wasn't sure if the sandwich was subpar or if his stomach just wasn't feeling up to it, but it made him nauseous to consider eating another bite. So he set it down and brushed off his fingers, his lips set in a deep frown.

Looking back across the street, he felt adrenaline spike in his veins and he stood up abruptly. Mr. White wasn't there. James crossed to the door and looked up and down the street, but his target was nowhere to be seen. Where had he-?

"Men like us tend to stand out," an older, Austrian voice murmured just behind him, and James froze on the spot. "Next time, you may want to bring along a woman to be your buffer. A man on holiday with his woman is less conspicuous than a man brooding alone in a café."

"Mr. White," James greeted stiffly. "I was hoping we could discuss business."

"I'm sure you were." The Spectre agent took a step back from James. "Come back into the café and let us 'talk'." He had a small gun in his hand, hidden mostly in his sleeve, and no one seemed to notice. He motioned for James to walk to the table in the far back, and James did. "What is your name?"

"Bond," he answered. As he slid into his seat, he said, "James Bond."

"Well, Mr. Bond, what business does the British secret service have with me?" Mr. White sat primly on his chair, his gun hand resting on his knees so that it still pointed at James under the table.

"Spectre." James set his own arms on the table in full view, no hidden weapons. "How far does it reach? How deep does the rabbit hole go?"

At that, Mr. White laughed and shook his head. "Last I heard it had managed to spread to five countries in its search for global power. They had their fingers in French food prices, American technologies, and even your precious British infrastructure."

"Last you heard?" James asked.

"Ah. Didn't you know? I've been out for a year now, Mr. Bond. German prostitution isn't really in my cards. Nor is slave trading. But I digress. You're falling behind if you still think I'm involved." He was smug and leaned back in his chair.

"Then help me catch up. I'm not after you. I want the leader. I want Blofeld." James leaned back too, putting on a carefree air. "Help me and the British government will protect you from the Spectre fallout."

Mr. White chuckled again. But he lowered his gun, and that was a good sign. "The British government is useless. Spectre has been operating in London for the past couple of years and they haven't noticed. The fact that you're here looking for Blofeld is proof of your agency's incompetence."

"How so?"

Mr. White looked so haughty that James wanted to flip the table and choke him with it, but he resisted the urge. For the mission. Damn the mission sometimes.

After an agonizing, aggravating minute, Mr. White sighed in a self-satisfied manner and said, "Blofeld is in London."

"How do you know? I thought you were out."

"He called to try and pull me back in. Apparently he's worked out a reverse underground railroad in your very backyard. Kidnapping British citizens and carting them off to foreign countries as slaves via halfway houses that run throughout the United Kingdom." He snorted then. "Protect me, you say. You can't even protect yourselves."

James stood slowly, and Mr. White allowed it but his lips fell into a disapproving frown. That was the least of James' worries though. Because if British citizens were being secreted out of the country through a corrupt housing market, then James had a good idea where to start looking for Blofeld. And he didn't like it at all.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. White," he said. "I'm sure we'll be in touch."

"I doubt it," Mr. White sneered back. "At the rate you're going, we'll both be dead before you even get a running start."

If it wouldn't appear desperate and unprofessional, James would have started running right then. But instead he walked calmly from the café and out into the street before he picked up his pace and headed back toward his hotel.

He dialed Q on the way but he didn't answer. Then he tried Moneypenny and got her voicemail too. Cursing inwardly, he called R.

"Have you found Blofeld?" she asked, all business.

"I have a lead, and you're not going to like it," James answered.

James didn't like it either. Because the only Spectre related housing scheme in London that he knew of was Riley, and Q had gone to confront it alone, and now he couldn't contact Q or Eve. He needed to get on a plane immediately, and he wanted every available agent in London out looking six hours ago. For now, he had to rely on R and her stagnating department.

Damn.

* * *

Uh oh! A wild plot development appeared! :) If you liked the chapter, please leave a comment!


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"We have the names of a dozen members of Spectre leadership from the list your man recovered," Tanner was saying. "Since yesterday morning, agents have tracked down and detained nine, and Mallory is not pleased that you let White walk."

"So besides Blofeld, who's unaccounted for?" James asked. The view from his plane window was a frustrating black tarmac, soaked with rain. They'd been stuck on the runway for over twenty minutes because of some confusion or delay at the gate.

"Uh… Hang on a second, I've lost the last name somewhere. Ah! There it is. Carver. Elliot Carver." He sounded far too pleased for a man who'd just forgotten the name of someone he was calling about.

"Last known location?" James asked, even though he had no plan of leaving London before he found Q.

"According to the data on the drive, he's somewhere in the United Kingdom, but the last thing any of our searches came up with was him living in China. It's stumped us." He sighed in aggravation. "006 is checking out his city back in China, but so far there's not even a whisper about him."

"We'll find him," James assured. The plane was moving into the gate now. "Any word from Moneypenny?"

Another sigh, this time more tired than aggravated. "Yes. She's out there on the streets, apparently. Checks in every hour so we know she's not dead. Good of her and all, but I don't know what she expects to find out in Haringey. Nothing about Carver suggests he's in London. I think she's starting to crack under pressure."

"She's not looking for Carver," James corrected just as the seatbelt sign turned off. "And she's not cracking. She's looking for the branch of Spectre Mr. White claims operates out of London. I'm joining her as soon as I get off this bloody plane."

"You believe Mr. White?" Tanner asked. James grabbed his carry-on bag, his only bag, and began the awkward shuffle to get off the plane.

"For now, yes I do."

* * *

Eve answered the next time he called. She was on a bench by the river, and she sounded like she'd been crying, or was about to break down at any moment. She'd been to Q's house, to his work, to Prufrock, and she had found no trace of where Q had gone.

"God, I shouldn't have let him go home alone," she said, self-hatred dripping from her words. "I should have taken him out for coffee or tea or something. I should have gotten him to talk to me."

James could see her from his spot on the sidewalk, but he didn't approach. The building where Q worked was just past her, and James had been headed there when he finally gotten through to her. But now he waited. Her best friend was missing, and he wasn't sure how to console her.

"This isn't your fault, Eve," he said. "This is Riley and Blofeld. You should head back to the office and start a search into Riley and his son."

She took a long, shuddering breath before nodding. "You're right. I'm not doing any good sitting out here, wallowing. I'll get R and her team to search traffic cameras and see if we can't follow Q's trail."

"While you're at it, see how many of Riley's properties could be safe houses. See how many are empty." James crossed the street as she stood and hid himself behind a tree. "If Riley has Q, it'll be in one of his properties."

"Good thinking. I'll use the cameras to track those two as well. But what are you going to do?" she asked.

James smiled and left his tree to keep walking down the sidewalk, in the opposite direction of Eve. "I'm heading to Riley's office to see if I can find any clues. Call me when you find anything. Together we're gonna catch this bastard and find Q."

"I'll admit, you're brimming confidence and simmering rage fill me with quite a bit of hope, James."

"Anytime, Miss Moneypenny," he replied with a smile and ended the call.

The entrance to Riley's place of business was unassuming. In a word, it could even be called boring. But, James supposed, if you were trying to covertly use a place as a front for an international kidnapping operation, boring is what you'd desire. No one looks twice at a boring storefront.

When he walked in, there was beep in the back office on the alarm system and a lovely looking woman walked out to greet him. Her radically short hair was dyed blonde, and her roots were starting to show. Spectre must not pay as well as James thought.

"Good morning," she greeted briskly, but not altogether unkindly. Her voice was hinted with a Dutch accent. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Afraid not," James said with a smile. Then he pointed at a photo markup on the wall of a handsome couple in front of a brand new house. "Was in the market for a new house, actually. I have some cargo to move in from up north and I heard this was the place to inquire about getting some help in that area."

The Dutch woman's eyes narrowed just a hair, but then she was smiling again, although it was a tad tight. "Have a seat. I'll check on Mr. Cane and see if we can fit you in."

"Thank you." He bowed his head but did not sit down in one of the orange plastic chairs along the wall.

As soon as she stepped out of view, he walked the perimeter of the room, glancing down the hall where she'd come from and down the one she left through. Her desk was technically in another room, but there was no door and only glass was between her and the entrance.

Keeping an ear out for her footsteps, James entered the office and moved straight for her computer. From his pocket, he pulled a thumb drive. In a move that was out of character, R had met him at the airport, and she'd handed him the small device with a disapproving look.

"I'm not doing this because I forgive you," she said, "But put this in a computer on their mainframe and I can help you find Q."

Maybe it was tracking information. Maybe it was a virus. James didn't know. James didn't care. As soon as he put the drive in, the computer screen flickered, but then all appeared normal. Assuming it was doing its job, James took the time to leaf through the folders on the desk. Nothing said Q or mentioned a Daniel. But he did see several papers with the S.P.E.C.T.R.E. logo on them.

Down the hall, a door opened and James quickly made his way back to the waiting room and pretended to be admiring a painting hung on the wall opposite the propaganda. The Dutch woman's smile was forced when she spotted him.

"Mr. Cane apologizes, but he's got meetings all day. I can schedule you for tomorrow if you'd like," she said.

"That would be lovely," James agreed. "The name is Richard Sterling."

She disappeared around the corner and then he watched her typing on her computer for a short moment. If she looked behind the screen and at the actual computer, she'd notice the flash drive, but unless she had to plug in something of her own, James doubted she would. After a few tense moments, she reappeared and handed him a business card with an appointment on it.

"So tomorrow morning at ten: One meeting with Riley Cane. You're all set, Mr. Sterling. And I hope we can help you with your cargo." The way she stressed the last word told James everything he needed to know about Riley. Ex-con or not, Mr. White was on to something. Riley was part of Spectre and helping smuggle things out of the country.

"I sincerely hope so," James said, taking the card. "Tomorrow then." And he stepped outside.

* * *

Back at MI-6, Eve and James both ended up in the R&D department. R was standing near a row of computers when they entered, and she was drinking a can of some fruit drink through a straw. Despite not calling ahead to say they were coming, R's eyes were watching the two of them from the moment they stepped into the room.

"About time," she said and held up two folders full of papers. After they'd each taken one, she said, "There's a list of all the properties owned by Cane in there, plus some shots from the camera footage you put us on. Cane has been at his office all day today, but his son was out checking on a few properties. I've highlighted the addresses on the list."

"Wonderful. Thank you so much," Eve said, but she didn't raise her eyes up. She was looking through the photos. The last known appearance of Q was in the file, along with a few others. There was the shot of him leaving the tube, one of him on the street with his mobile up to his ear, and one of him turning onto the street where Riley's office was, but there were no cameras closer.

James looked at the time stamp on the second one and knew that was a photo of Q leaving James his last voicemail. His stomach clenched uncomfortably.

"Did you gather anything else interesting from their computers or just a list of their properties?" he asked.

"Oh you have no idea," R said and her usually stoic face broke into an actual grin. "For starters, Cane has regular contact with a man named Oberhauser. Did a little digging there, and it's a verified codename used by Blofeld back before we ever heard of SPECTRE. So I did some looking into Cane as well, and don't you know it? He didn't even exist a decade ago. As far as I can tell, he just popped into existence the same time as his building company – six years ago."

"That doesn't make any sense," Eve murmured, finding pages in the file that detailed emails between Blofeld and Riley.

"No it doesn't. Not on its own. But I had an idea, so I cross checked." She looked and sounded pleased with herself, but James wished she'd skip the dramatic pauses and go straight for the punch line. "Remember that one rogue SPECTRE agent no one can find?"

"You're not suggesting Riley Cane is Elliot Carver," Eve interrupted.

"I am. Carver disappeared a month before Cane appears in any documentation." R poked Eve's file definitely. "The facts don't lie, Miss Moneypenny."

Pulling the file away, Eve countered with, "But facts can be misread and twisted."

But James didn't doubt R's conclusion. He held his file firmly and nodded. "Thank you," he said. "Come on, Miss Moneypenny."

For once, it was not James that gave R a curt nod and a disapproving stare before taking their leave. Not that the treatment seemed to bother the head of R&D in the slightest. She was probably so used to it from James that Eve's attempt felt like flattery.

In the elevator to return to the main lobby, Eve finally spoke. "You don't believe that, do you?" she asked.

"I think it's a valid conclusion, actually," James responded and then inclined his head toward her. "But aren't you focusing on the wrong puzzle piece right now? Does it matter if Riley Cane is Elliot Carver or just some real estate mogul that happened to get involved with a crime syndicate? Or is it more important to focus on the fact that Riley Cane, member of Spectre, has kidnapped your best friend and done God knows what to him?"

Perhaps she only pouted in return, but James knew the answer. It mattered very little who Riley was. For now, he was just the asshole standing between James and Q. As soon as they reached ground level, James would be heading out to search the Cane properties. He would find Q and rescue him if need be, and then the whole of MI-6 could burn Cane to the ground or decide he wasn't worth their trouble. At that point, James honestly couldn't care.

But first he had to find Q.

"I'll coordinate from here," Eve spoke up just as the elevator hit the lobby floor. She motioned up toward M's office on a higher floor, up where her desk was waiting. "And be careful."

"Always," James lied with a tight smile and stepped off the elevator.

Even without the special circumstances, James was rarely considered careful. Reckless and rude, absolutely, but never careful. Given what was at stake this time – Q's life and a promised plethora of other kidnapped victims – James found that not only was he going to be his usual level of reckless, but he would probably risk even more than normal.

Despite knowing what would happen, James pulled out his mobile and dialed Q. It went straight to voicemail, but James didn't hang up.

After the beep, he took a soft breath and said, "Whatever they've done, Q, don't give in. Never give in."

He wanted to promise to find Q and save him, but in his mind he just heard the words of previous marks and agents reminding him that promises were very difficult to keep in his line of work. A flimsy promise was arguably worse than no promise at all. So he didn't promise to find Q and rescue him, because there was such a looming possibility that there would be no one to find, that the worst had happened and-

So he didn't promise that.

But he could promise one thing, so before the beep cut him off he said, "I'm coming for you." Because nothing on Earth was going to stop James Bond from searching until he found the answers, whether he liked them or not.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting today. If you liked the chapter, please consider leaving a comment. ^_^


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The younger Cane had visited three properties the evening Q disappeared, and it would be best if all three could be checked before morning because James would just love to show up to his meeting with Riley with a team of MI-6 trained enforcers to arrest him and take him in for questioning. Also because the longer Q was missing, the less chance they'd find him alive. He'd already been missing for almost two days. It wasn't a good timeline.

The sun was starting to set as James stepped out of his cab and looked down a line of quaint homes. They were full of families settling in for the night, relaxing in their private abodes on the edge of the bustling hub of London. As the cab drove away, James checked his watch. Moneypenny would be arriving at her first home to search in a moment, he noted and started to walk.

With temperatures dropping, they didn't want to be skulking about in bushes for too long, so they split the list and each took a property to investigate. If they found no traces of Q, they'd meet at the third building. If they did find him, they'd text each other.

As if on cue from his thoughts, James' phone buzzed. He eyed his destination down the street as he pulled his mobile out and saw he had a voicemail. Odd. His phone hadn't notified him of an incoming call.

He kept walking as he accessed the message and barely stopped himself from sighing as he had to listen to the automated message beforehand. When the message began, he slowed his walk until he was standing still on the sidewalk again.

Someone less trained would think the message was static, but James had practice in listening to bad audio recordings. It was air blowing past an opening or through a hollow space or both. It was the sound of air at the end of a train tunnel, or the sound of night heard from the sewer. Then there was the quiet lap of water. A drop hitting a puddle? A footstep? It didn't repeat.

A shaking breath.

"I know you've got to be looking," Q's voice broke into the static of the call. He sounded tired, his voice rough, and James imagined him calling for help long enough to make his vocal chords raw. "Of course you're looking. I'd never forgive you if you weren't."

He stopped to cough and James frowned. Another plop of water. Soft. Small. Something dripping slowly.

"Idiots," Q continued when he had breath. "I've… Charlie didn't even think about the watch. It's… I mean, it's no mobile, I suppose. But it's got range." He took a slow, ragged breath. "And you'll get close. I know you will. You'll get this. Just-"

James started walking again, his chest tight, his determination high. Q had sent out a distress call to James' phone on something with limited range? And James was close enough to receive it. Q had to be near this property.

"It's- huh, it's about ten at the moment. Degrees, that is, if my watch it to be believed, and it is. Mist expected in the morning. Look, I didn't study biology but it'd be a bloody relief if you could discover me before I freeze to death. Hypothermia isn't a pleasant experience, or so the movies tell me." And the breath he let out afterward did not bode well for his body temperature at the time of the call.

The voicemail ended.

Below ground but with access to the outside air. James walked up to the home in question, which was currently closed for renovations, and began to check the perimeter.

His phone buzzed again and he quickly clicked to listen to the voicemail, grunting his annoyance at the automated message. This time the silent sound of air and a choppy connection lasted much longer and James' stomach knotted unpleasantly.

Finally, Q's voice, achingly soft, shuddered into existence. "S-Sometime s-soon w-would be n-nice, James." Damn, how long ago had this second message been sent? "D-don't let m-me f-freeze to d-death down h-here… I p-promise. I didn't… I didn't tell them a-anything." He took a horrible, shivering breath and then a sound like a snort came over the line. "W-Wanker," he said. "H-haven't even g-gone on a-a proper d-date."

The call continued but Q did not. The sound got muffled by clothing or dirt or whatever, it didn't really matter. And ten seconds later, the sound cut off and the mechanical female voice asked him if he wanted to delete the message. James ended the call and slipped his mobile away.

There. A grate in the ground. It was barely large enough for an air vent, but he hurried to it and blocked out the setting sun to look down into it. It ran down quite a ways into the soil, but James saw it curve inward at the bottom before meeting some sort of mesh blockade against anything falling into it. The house had some sort of cellar.

Carefully, he snuck up to the house and tested the door. Locked, of course. But he didn't know if there was anyone inside. From his jacket pocket he pulled a lock pick kit and easily, quietly let himself in. The sun was the only light in the place, and even that only made it through the newly opened door.

Relieved, but not letting his guard down, James took note of the slim furnishings – a simple wooden chair and small one person table, a standalone lamp, and nothing else. It was barren of all luxuries of a home, with no decorations on the walls or colorful rugs on the floors. The tiny kitchen showed no signs of dishes and the stale smell of the room suggested traffic was minimal. The only thing beautiful about this house was the exterior – a pretty façade to keep away wandering eyes.

Walking with more assurance now, James began opening doors to find the stairs into the basement. The rest of the house was as empty as the main room, to the point that the only additions James found were toilet paper, hand soap, and a small towel in the bathroom. Even the bedroom was barren.

Finally he found the stairs behind a door so thin he'd originally expected to see nothing but an empty closet beyond it. He hesitated. What if Q wasn't alone down there? What if they knew about the watch and this was a trap? No matter what, James was going down, but-

He pulled his gun and treaded carefully, doing his best to avoid making the stairs creak. The door closed quietly behind him. Surprisingly, the stairs were in great condition, so he made almost no noise on his descent. The cellar was black and soundless, almost to the point that James could hear his own blood rushing through his ears.

"Q?" he chanced to call out. Even in his coat, James shivered in the chilly subterranean air.

Silence.

At the base of the stairs, he hesitated, and when no one attacked him, he reached his hand out for the support beam and found the light switch. A single, small bulb snapped to life in the center of the ceiling, jarring James' eyes for a moment. It wasn't very bright, but after adjusting to the dark house and the black basement, it was like a flashlight right in his face.

He blinked hard several times and squinted at the room. Rain had slipped down into the room from the drain up above so that the ground was damp and the air itself felt humid. And there, tied to a cement support beam, was Q. He was curled up on his side and his glasses were half off his face, but the most concerning fact was how still the other man was.

James scanned the room for possible hiding places for assailants. When he was certain they were alone, he holstered his gun and hurried to Q's side. Upon closer inspection, Q was also wet, and his clothes were disheveled. Strike the earlier theory. Rain hadn't done this. This was Charlie's work. Based on the room and Q's second message, this was more than just Q's jail cell – it was his interrogation room too.

"Q," he called again, cupping the other's face to lift it from the ground. No response. The young programmer's skin was frigid.

James pulled Q's glasses off and held them under the other's nose, but either Q wasn't breathing at all or it was too faint to fog the glasses in the damp chill of the room.

"Q," James growled in warning, anger and denial seeping into his chest. He checked for a pulse and had to take several breaths to calm himself so he could feel it over his own.

Weak, but it was there. He quickly disrobed of his jacket and wrapped it around Q instead, trying to bring warmth back to the thin, frozen body. Then he made quick work of the bonds around Q's wrists and ankles. He was just sorting out how best to get Q into town without raising suspicions when he heard the footsteps upstairs.

His blood boiled. Riley or Charlie or maybe even Blofeld was coming to check on their prisoner. Well they'd be sorry they did once they made it downstairs. James stood and went to the light switch, casting the room into darkness once more. He pulled his gun and moved to stand behind the stairs, out of sight.

The footsteps drew closer and then paused in front of the door. James took a slow, deep breath as the knob turned and the door opened, allowing the kidnapper in. Unlike James, the new person walked heavy and trod down the stairs like an oafish drunk.

Ugh. Based on the smell that came with him, maybe he was drunk.

The light clicked on and revealed the newcomer to be Charlie. Not the owner of the operation, but James wasn't going to complain about it. There was a bottle in Charlie's hand but it was empty. Too late, James realized he'd left his jacket on Q, but the younger Cane didn't seem to notice.

Definitely drunk, then.

"You," Charlie slurred out, staring down at Q's unmoving body. "It's all your bloody fault, innit? Callin' an' textin' her all the time. Tellin' her all my faults. Makin' me the bad guy." He coughed and shook his head. Then he shouted, all anger and no sense, "I ain't a bad guy! I was good to her! Now she's gone an' thinks she can hide with yer parents?!" He sucked in a sharp breath and started laughing, swaying his way closer to Q. "Jokes on you, innit? After all yer pleadin' and sweet talkin', you finally got her to go home. But your home is my home, bruv. An' when my da' hears about this? You think your stupid, fuckin' family is gonna squeak on by?!"

He tossed the bottle and it smashed into shards against the wall. To James' amazement, Q actually flinched, although he did not appear to regain consciousness. But it was enough to distract James from stepping out at that moment.

"Not how this is gonna go, Danny boy! First I'm gonna finally end your pathetic little struggle here, then I'm gonna drop in on yer parents an' show 'em how Carver's deal with traitors!" Charlie took another step toward Q, but James had heard enough.

In a swift move, he stepped out of hiding and raised his gun. Charlie had just enough time to hear the movement and turn to face his attacker before the bullet caught him between the eyes. Part of James felt sick over the bluntness of the death. Inside, he admitted that he'd wanted to shoot the young man in several body parts first, but time had convinced him to make it quick.

Q may not have time.

Holstering his weapon, James stepped over the new dead body in the room and pulled Q up into a sitting position. Q's watch, the one he'd called out to James with, lit up with the movement and gave the agent an idea.

It only took Eve one ring to answer.

"I need your car," he said before she'd even finished greeting him. "Now."

* * *

The ride to James' flat was tense and silent, the two conscious adults too wrapped up in their own anxiety to attempt conversation or explanation. James sat in the back of the car with Q, keeping him pulled close to share his body heat. By the time the car stopped out front, the younger man was starting to shiver again, which was a good sign, but his eyes didn't open and he made no sounds.

He was still so cold, and James had never had to help someone else through hypothermia. He knew how to self-care but… No. He knew how to care for hypothermia. He knew the best thing would be to get Q to a hospital, but Blofeld would be watching for that. James had to do it off books.

Eve opened the door while James carried Q in, and then she went and raised the thermostat's temperature.

"Not too high, Miss Moneypenny. We don't need to sweat to death," James said offhandedly. Then, looking down into Q's face, he added, "I need you to go to his place. He needs new clothes and see if he has another pair of glasses. Grab anything you think is useful. We don't want Riley getting it first."

"What about Q?" she asked, hesitating.

"I'll take care of him." He looked up and met her eyes, worried and skeptical as they were. "Trust me."

Maybe it was the deepness to his voice or the slight plead hanging in the background of the words, but something made the dark skinned woman lose some of her nervousness. She nodded, bracing herself for walking away, and gave Q one last, long look before she finally left.

James wasted no time. He carried Q to the bathroom and quickly disrobed him of his damp clothes. Not knowing if it was the hypothermia or the interrogation techniques that put Q in his current state made James wary. He could easily do too much and send Q into a shock that could kill him, but he could also easily do too little.

Taking a towel, he dried Q's hair and then worked his way down the other's body, getting him as dry as possible. The air in the bathroom was already heating up, and James was starting to sweat in his suit, but he finished drying Q all the way down to his toes before considering himself. The bathroom always got the brunt of the air conditioner quicker than the rest of the flat and always more intensely too.

Off went his tie, his jacket, his shoes. He covered Q with a large towel and left the bathroom to find something the younger man could borrow to cover up. James' clothes would undoubtedly be too large, but some underpants at least would be beneficial, especially once Q woke up. As James headed back for the bathroom, he let his shirt drop from his shoulders to the floor, not caring where it ended up.

Once Q was covered and decent again, James grabbed all his blankets, a whopping two, and took a seat beside the other man. Carefully, and to the slight disagreement of Q, James pulled the other into his lap and covered them with the blankets. Q's head sagged against James' shoulder, and James could feel every shudder that went through the other's body where their torsos were pressed together, skin to skin. Shuddering was good, he reminded himself.

Under the blankets, James slowly rubbed his hands up and down Q's arms to warm them. In any other situation, being half naked with a mostly naked Q might have been sexy. Pressing their bodies together, sweat starting to build on James' skin, and rubbing the other's arms might have been foreplay. But not now. Not for either of them. James, popularly described playboy, wasn't thinking about that. He was simply holding Q close and hoping the hypothermia wasn't as bad as he thought, because he didn't want Q to ache and he didn't want Q to die, but most of all he didn't want to take Q to the MI-6 building's health department.

He trusted them less than he'd like to admit. They were all vetted, of course, but the looks they always gave James told him they kept no secrets from the higher ups or from gossip, and James didn't need the whole department whispering about Q before he even got properly settled.

In his arms, Q made a sound of discomfort and tried to shift his position, which was another good sign. With a sigh of relief, James reached his hand up and cupped the side of Q's face before pressing his own cheek against the dark mop of hair on Q's head. He was regaining movement after such a short time. Q was going to be fine.

Another few minutes later, Q coughed and hissed and then finally, slowly, opened his eyes. He turned his head only a fraction, just enough to see who was half under him and saving his life. Was that confusion in his eyes? Or caution?

"James?" he asked, his voice broken and tired.

Despite himself, James smiled and then he pushed the curling hair from Q's face. "Q," he said.

"Where-?" Q tried to ask, but lost his voice after the first word.

James shook his head and said, "Don't worry. You're safe. Frozen, but safe. You're going to be just fine."

The simple, vague placations seemed to be enough, because Q nodded brokenly and relaxed against James' body. Silence took over, and James just focused on listening to the shivers slowly leaving Q's lungs.

Down in the dark of that basement, Charlie's body was already cold. While no one would know that Charlie had gone there in a drunken rage, it was only a matter of time before someone found him – whether by looking for him or by looking for Q. MI-6 needed to act now, before the other Spectre agents figured out what was going on.

In James' arms, Q moaned in pain, and James knew there was no moving until Q was better. But once Eve got back, she could send M a message. Cane was Carver. Charlie had said so. Now they just needed to use his father to find Blofeld and this mission could be over.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Comments are life!

This chapter was altered after a well worded comment convinced me to be more realistic about how to deal with hypothermia. I could have been lazy and left it because it's fanfiction, but I decided to be responsible about my writing and the effect it could have on others and changed it. Thanks to silvergenesis for keeping me accountable.

Please note: Don't be James Bond. do not try to care for someone with extreme hypothermia at home. Take them to a hospital immediately.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: The previous chapter's final scene was altered after a well worded comment convinced me to be more realistic about how to deal with hypothermia. I could have been lazy and left it because it's fanfiction, but I decided to be responsible about my writing and the effect it could have on others and changed it. Thanks to silvergenesis for keeping me accountable.

* * *

Chapter 13

By the time Eve returned with his belongings, Q was conscious and able to move with only mild discomfort. James had extricated himself from the blanket ball when Q was conscious enough to hold himself up, with the wall's help of course.

Q hadn't been aware enough to watch James strip off the last of his suit, and even hours after his arrival in James' flat, he seemed only half aware. James had slightly increased the air temperature after he'd left, but it still wasn't hot. An hour later, he finally lowered the air temperature back to decent human levels, not wanting Eve to walk into a wall of heat when she returned.

When Eve finally did reenter the flat, James was in a pair of comfortable pajama pants and a white t-shirt. For all the world, he looked like a man about to take a well deserved nap, not someone who'd just killed one man and saved another. Q was still in the bathroom, wrapped in blankets and shivering more with the memory of the cold than from an actual chill.

"How is he?" Eve asked James and handed him a cup from the to-go tray in her hands. A bag for Q was over her shoulder, but it appeared she'd made a pit stop for tea. Hot tea. Good decision.

"He needs to stay warm for the rest of the night, and it probably would be best if he stayed indoors with a heater tomorrow just to be sure, but his body will be fine," James said, sounding confounding-ly like some sort of medical expert.

"And mentally? He nearly died," Eve reminded, as though James had forgotten about the deathlike state he'd found Q in, as though he could have already forgotten hugging the younger man tightly to his body to warm him up for over two hours.

James held in his annoyance. She meant well. "He hasn't said anything," James admitted, then motioned toward the bathroom. "You should check on him."

"Me?" she asked, but started walking anyway.

"You are his best friend, aren't you?" James asked without expecting an answer.

They both knew it didn't require a response, so the conversation dropped. James stood still in the hall while Eve made her way through the master bedroom into the bathroom. The aging agent rubbed his hand over his face and took a slow breath.

Since he had time while Q was in the care of the capable Miss Moneypenny, James supposed he should call M and update him… so he did. He pushed a speed dial on his mobile and then stood staring out his windows at the dark London night as he brought his boss up-to-date on the events of the evening, leaving out some of the details on how bad Q's condition might be.

He got an earful for killing Charlie, but in the end James could tell even Mallory wasn't actually upset about it. Bringing the bad guys in was a plus, not a requirement, and Q had been more important in that instance than trying to fill a jail cell. The lecture was still expected, though. It would look good in a report.

"Tend to the young man for the night," Mallory said, echoing James' own plans. "If he's up for it, bring him in tomorrow. Either he can help us with all the information he has locked up in that brain of his, or we can help him."

"Sir?"

"Well, you should know, 007. We have the finest therapists in London on call." Mallory had a smile in his voice, but it fell away with his next line. "If he feels like talking, of course."

"Thank you, Sir," James said. Somehow Mallory could understand things James hadn't told him. It made him a good M. Then the call ended and he was left in his flat, trying to see past his own reflection and to the stars outside.

The reflection in the window helped though. Without it, he wouldn't have noticed Moneypenny approaching him. Her footsteps were too quiet with her shoes off. But when he saw her approach, he turned smoothly, and she shrugged noncommittally to his wordless greeting.

"He wants to talk to you," she said simply. Her tone gave away no hint of Q's mood in either direction, and he supposed that was a good sign too.

Nodding once, he strode past her and into the bathroom once more. The blankets were still on Q, but he was no longer wrapped up. He'd let them pillow around his waist as he stared blankly ahead at the bathtub.

"How are you?" James asked, though the question felt flat and unhelpful.

"How did you even know so much about me?" Q asked, not looking up at James. He was wearing the new glasses Eve had brought him, but his gaze was on the tub as though he was doing calculations about just how large it was. "I mean, when we … well I suppose 'met' would be stretching it. But when we passed each other the other day, you weren't surprised at all. How did you know?"

Hm. Honesty is the best policy, right? James shrugged. "I'm a spy," he said simply. "I took what you told me and found you. No computers. No files. I just looked into Prufrock, into Riley, and you were right in the middle of it. Not the hardest thing I've ever done. But it was interesting."

"You truly have a way with words, James Bond," Q said, using James' full name for the first time. "Remind me to list you as the person I want writing my obituary." He touched his glasses and, with great effort, pushed himself up to take a seat on the edge of the tub. He glanced at James then, saw the concerned draw of the agent's brow, and said, "Oh don't look at me like that. I'm not dying today."

"Remind me of that in the morning, after your body temperature can make you sweat like a normal person again," James said, dead serious.

They lapsed into silence and Q rubbed his nose absentmindedly, his attention back on immoveable objects, like the wall. Somehow, James had imagined meeting Q in person to involve more cliché suave lines from himself and more swooning from Q. This was tense, as though they didn't know each other at all. Or that perhaps they had known each other, but there had been a good row and they weren't quite back on speaking terms. But there had been no fight.

Sighing, Q removed his glasses and rubbed a hand down over his face. "This is not how I envisioned our first meeting," he murmured and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Oh? And how did you picture it?" James asked. "Was I as handsome and charming in your visions?"

That drew a small laugh from Q and the slighter man put his glasses back on. He turned and looked at James with a tiny smile. "Well I figured your hair would be longer, I suppose. But I've seen you before today too. You tried defending my sister from Charlie." When James raised a quizzical eyebrow, Q did not look ashamed. He merely shrugged. "I was just down the street. Saw what happened and had a notion. Called you right after to make sure I was right. The poor sod from Prufrock I dumped coffee on was my James."

A slow smile took over James' face then, and Q looked like he didn't know how to take it. But James couldn't stop. His chest had the oddest sensation in it, something similar to outsmarting a villain. In a low voice, he asked, "Your James?"

The blush that took over Q's face, took over his whole body, was endearing. He stammered when he spoke. "N-Not 'mine'. I just meant- Well you're the only James I know and, well, how else do you specify one person from a thousand others? I didn't mean- I'm-"

Chuckling, James grabbed one of his bath robes before setting it gently in Q's hands. "Calm down, Q. Don't need you having a heart attack on top of everything." He slid his own hands into his pockets and took a step back. "Put on the robe. Come into the other room and drink your tea. I may even have some milk and lemon for you."

"Daniel," Q said, stopping James' backwards retreat. Slipping the robe on, he looked calmly up into James' expectant eyes. "My name is Daniel. Q is from my middle name – Quincy."

"And which would you prefer I call you?" James asked, back leaning against the door frame now.

A shrug. "In my experience, people tend to take fondness with whichever name sounds best to their own ears. And I don't just mean with me. So pick whichever you prefer." He was trying to sound nonchalant about it, but he seemed a bit too nervous to pull it off completely. Still, James let it slide.

"Maybe I'll call you Quincy," he teased, but his voice was flat and serious.

Q shot him a disapproving stare. "I'd really rather you not."

"So much for my own preference," James said, and this time it sounded like the tease it was. Q's face flickered between amused and stubbornly disapproving, but there was enough amusement that James felt proud.

Anyway, names didn't matter. He'd known Q's true name for awhile and still called him Q. It didn't change a thing.

In the end, he had to help Q stand and walk into the other room because his limbs weren't full of forgiveness. "They feel like they're full of needles," Q complained. They set him up a bundle of blankets on the couch, leaving James with no blanket for the night but that was fine. He'd slept with less.

And while Eve helped get Q anything and everything he'd need, including his new clothes for the night and following day, James stood there with a ridiculous question on his mind, especially given all the dangerous circumstances. He was watching the scene unfurl in his own living room and wondering, who the heck names their kid Quincy?

* * *

The time read exactly half past midnight when Eve finally left James' flat. Q was settled on the couch and James lay awake on his bed, no blanket to be found. For quite some time, James did attempt to sleep, but when he turned his head to the clock on his bedside desk, it revealed that he had failed to do so after almost two hours.

Letting out a long breath of air through his nose, James turned his gaze to the ceiling. He heard nothing in the rest of his flat, so Q was sleeping soundly in a bundle of sheets, the inside air turned up just a tad too hot. And James was certain no one had seen him enter or exit the Cane property that night, so no one would have followed him home. They were safe. Q would be fine.

So why did he feel so alert? This was the way his mind and body reacted when waiting for enemy agents to burst into the room at any moment. This was the resting state of someone who presumed they were being watched. He needed to relax. He needed to truly rest so he could be useful in the morning to go after Riley.

His nerves alerted him instantly to the sound of movement just beyond his open bedroom door. Someone was walking in the other room. Quietly, James slipped from his bed and moved toward the rest of his flat. When he made it to the doorway, he took a silent breath and stood against the wall, out of sight.

The footsteps grew closer, and James could tell they were making an effort to be quiet – but not quiet enough. When the stranger was within range, James reached out and grabbed them. He spun their bodies until he was pressing the intruder against the wall where he'd been hiding.

A blanket dropped against James' bare feet and the gasp of his victim brought him up short. This was no intruder. Blast his nerves. He should have known better.

"Apologies, Q," he murmured, taking a step back and letting the younger man off the wall. "You should be sleeping."

Rubbing his chest where James had pressed him into the wall, Q cleared his throat. "Well I'm awake. Though I suppose I should have known better than to try and sneak into the room of an MI-6 field agent."

He bent down to retrieve his dropped blanket, wrapping it back around his shoulders when he returned to a standing position, and James cocked his head curiously to the side. "Why _were_ you trying to sneak into my room?" If Q were anyone else, James would worry about backstabbing, assassination attempts, enemy espionage, but with Q he let all of his usual theories drop and found he was left with no explanations.

For a moment, Q fiddled with the blanket, eventually managing to tie it so it wouldn't fall off again. Then, no distractions immediately available, he pursed his lips and took a brief moment to steel himself. Finally he relaxed with a sigh of acceptance and said, "I couldn't sleep. When I feel the tingle of my skin, I think I'm back in that blasted basement, regardless of the blankets. And when I open my eyes, I see darkness. Unfortunately, that doesn't help the feeling. So I suppose I was trying to remind myself of where I was by checking in on you. Silly, I know."

"Not at all," James assured with a shake of his head. He motioned for Q to return to the other room and the younger man obediently obliged. James followed slowly behind. "It may surprise you, but I've been in a few skirmishes myself. Sometimes, at night, it's hard to forget I'm not right back in them. A therapist once told me it had something to do with the dark. But I found keeping on the lights only raised the electric bill, not my sense of security."

"So what do you do when you can't sleep?" Q asked, sitting down on the couch.

"I pour a glass of scotch and sit at the window," he answered honestly with a wry grin. "But I don't see you as the alcoholic type. You may want to find your own way, as mine is not particularly healthy."

Q lowered his eyes to the carpet and then looked toward the kitchen. "Actually," he began, "I had a thought about that… but it would require assistance on your part. I'm not sure if you'd mind."

Hearing Q so soft, even if he wasn't fearful or cowering, brought out the protective side of Bond. His Q was loud and full of proud opinions and ideas. … And this was his Q, beaten down and stuck in a nightmare. But there were no words in James Bond's vocabulary to express how willing he was to do whatever it took to get Q back on stable ground, back where he felt he was in control and safe again.

"I suppose we won't know until you ask," he replied. Q was right – he'd write terrible obituaries.

With a shrug and a nod of his head, Q agreed with the sentiment and then nodded once more for good measure. "Well then I guess I'll just get on with it then, shall I? I was hoping to lay with you. Nothing sexual, of course. Just for the body heat and the knowledge that someone else was nearby. Someone not trying to drown me or kill me, obviously."

James was taken back into that basement, reminded of the wet nature of the floor and Q's body, and he imagined Charlie with a rag over Q's face while his father poured the water. His fists clenched and released.

"The couch is wide enough," James answered and took a seat by Q. "But I would understand if the proximity was too close. We can move to the bed if you-"

"The couch is fine," Q interrupted brazenly, emboldened by James' agreement, and James smiled proudly back. Perhaps he would not need to be so careful of Q as he had expected.

So they wormed their way into Q's bundle, spooning of all things. James had his arm around Q's middle, his other tucked up under his own head like an extra pillow, and after several minutes, it actually seemed Q was relaxing into the embrace. Then some mixture of exhaustion and acceptance had Q's muscles unclenching all the way, and his weight settled farther against James – something comfortable and secure against James' chest.

A small, calm smile etched itself onto James' face and he closed his eyes. The tension and alertness from before did not return, and he blamed it on feeling Q against him and knowing he was safe and within reach.

He listened to Q's breathing even out into a steady rhythm and then took a slow, deep breath of Q's hair. It still had a musty scent, something gained from lying on a wet floor for nearly two days – but it was proof that Q was there, and that was the point. It would take a long bath to remove the smell of Q's ordeal. The thought made James remember Q sitting on the tub's edge and saying 'My James', and his calm smile grew a little wider.

"My Q," he murmured into the dark, his eyes closed and his own heart rate slowing. With his mind on Q's slowly increasing body temperature, he drifted into his first dreamless sleep in years.

* * *

Eve found them that way, curled together under the blankets. She wasn't there, staring down at them, when they woke up, but James knew. They woke to the sound of a knock on the door and James slowly extricated himself from their bundle to investigate who was paying him a visit so early in the morning. Eve waited patiently on the other side of the door and smiled at him when he opened it to allow her in.

Those were the odd things though, the details that told James she knew. Detail one – Eve had a key. James had given her one last night when she'd left to get Q's belongings. There was no reason she shouldn't have been able to let herself in. Detail two – she was smiling at him. There was no apprehension on her face, no doubt of Q's wellbeing or suspicion of James' conduct. She asked no questions about the situation at present, simply greeted him and shrugged off her coat.

James processed those facts as she walked over to the couch to address her friend and ask him personally about his condition. Did James mind that she had seen? She didn't seem to mind. And she had taken the courtesy of returning to the door and letting them wake up in private.

No doubt about it – James didn't mind in the slightest.

He came to stand by the end of the couch while Q assured her he was feeling much better. "A good, warm night's rest was the perfect remedy. I promise," Q said.

Eve glanced between the two of them and her smile grew a little more devious. "Well I'm glad," she said. "You gave me a terrible fright, and I will not allow you to do it again. Can't lose my best friend, now can I?"

Now Q's lips quirked up too. "No. That would be unforgiveable."

"Damn right it would be," Eve teased and pat his knee. "Now, I don't know that James has told you, but M was hoping you could make it in to the office this morning. James has a meeting with Mr. Cane at ten-" Q's eyes darted over to James in temporary shock before he schooled his features and looked back to Eve. "- and M is looking for any information or assistance you can provide."

"Of course." Q nodded and pushed himself to his feet. He appeared much stronger than the night before. His skin had returned to its usual shade and he did not wobble on unsteady legs. "Anything I can do to help. It's time I started contributing to this enterprise instead of hindering it."

In his head, James couldn't help but note how Q already sounded like an agent. He didn't talk like some poor college bloke from Haringey. He sounded like a bred and brilliant operative, ready to take on international and domestic threats. Now M just had to realize that too.

"Get dressed. We'll grab a bite at the office," Eve said with a broad smile. "Time to show the world how great you truly are."

"Indeed," James agreed. Q looked flustered by the praise and unsure how to respond, but he looked pleased too. They'd have to compliment him more often.

* * *

Comments are love!


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

At five minutes till ten, James was standing across the street from the real estate firm in his best suit – as in the one that was easiest to fight in while also being stunningly tailored. He adjusted his cuffs, assuring himself that the cufflinks were in securely. If need be, he could use them to stun someone.

"All according to plan, 007. All the cameras in the area were mysteriously pointed away from your approach or their feeds have been placed on loops of the empty street. Also, Mr. Carver's alarm system has been remotely deactivated, so he won't be able to call for help outside of who's currently in the office."

"… Okay, so you're pretty good."

"Thank you, Ms. R."

"Of course you did know the log in to Carver's computer system already, so I can't give you credit for that bit."

"I wouldn't expect you to. But you have to admit the cameras were a lovely touch. They keep an eye on those, and when he shows up without having appeared on any of their monitors-"

"Oh I wish I could be there to see their faces."

James cleared his throat. "As lovely as the banter is, could you put it on mute for a bit? This is the part where I have to concentrate."

"Apologies, 007," Q and R said simultaneously.

He smiled. Something in him had known Q and R would get along swimmingly, despite everything the woman had tried to say as she peacocked her way around the lab during the introductions. James had left Q in her hands and gone to prepare for his meeting with Carver, but Q had assured him that he'd fix everything once he had his hands on a good computer.

Mallory had obviously taken a shine to Q after their original meeting two days prior, and that shine had not left him just because Q got kidnapped. In fact, the ex-soldier seemed to approve of Q more now that he'd been taken hostage and had his loyalties tested. His meeting with Q this morning had been private, but James suspected it had a lot of questions like 'Are you willing to give your life for your country?' and 'How far would you go to protect an asset?' among others.

There may also have been a thinly veiled question about Q's relationships with both James and Eve. Q hadn't said as much, but James suspected it had happened anyway.

And now Q was in the I.T. department, hacking public security feeds as well as private. It would be a lie to say James wasn't extremely pleased.

With a steadying breath, James prepped himself, and then he was stepping briskly through the front door of the office. The assistant from last time stood up abruptly from her seat behind the glass, obviously caught by surprise.

"Mr. Sterling!" she greeted, a note too high in her shock. She glanced down at her computer, where James expected she could see the security feeds from outside, and then came around to greet him properly. "Right on time. Wonderful. I'll let Mr. Cane know you've arrived."

She was smiling, but her discomfort was badly hidden, and as she turned away she dropped the smile entirely. James didn't though. R was right. The reaction was brilliant. The secretary vanished down the hall to the offices, and James took the time to unplug the phone line, just in case. When she came back, he was standing in the middle of the room as though he'd never moved.

"He's ready for you. Last door on the left." Her composure was back and she smiled genuinely this time.

"Thank you."

Walking casually, James strolled down the hall as though he had all day to get there and then stepped through the open door at the end. A wiry man with spectacles was sitting behind an ornate Chinese desk, his hair fully grey and thinning. Honestly, James had expected to find someone more intimidating in appearance, but he supposed it didn't take physical strength to be a psychopath or to participate in human trafficking.

"Ah, Mr. Sterling," Riley greeted and stood to offer his hand. James took it and they shook. Then the older man retook his seat, fixing his tie as he did. "My assistant tells me you're looking to transport a special type of cargo into the city. How can Cane Real Estate be of service?"

"Something tells me your buildings are superb at hiding bodies," James said coolly, remembering how he'd left Charlie in the basement. Riley's smile was tight. "And I'd like to hide a few."

"What kind of bodies were you thinking?" the older man asked, and his smooth acceptance of James talking about bodies and not people confirmed everything about the man that James had been thinking.

"Yours," he answered honestly and Riley frowned. "But whether or not you help me find Blofeld determines whether that body is alive or dead, Mr. Carver."

Elliot Carver's eyes were cold behind his steel rimmed glasses. He reached down to press a button on his phone, but nothing happened. Brow pulling, the older man looked down at the button as he pressed it again, but still nothing happened.

"Don't bother, Mr. Carver. I disconnected your main phone line, and all of your security protocols have been switched off by a mutual friend of ours." He leaned on the desk, absently admiring the craftsmanship. "The bad news is you're wanted for human trafficking, kidnapping and torturing a British citizen, extortion, and I'm sure a long list of other delightfully terrible crimes. The good news is you're not the head of the snake. I'm after Blofeld. Give me information about him and his location, and maybe I'll go easy on you."

"Blofeld?" Carver asked, standing from his desk chair slowly. James' tactics had obviously shaken him, but he did not appear like a man about to crack under pressure. "He's not in town, I'm afraid. But I'm sure I could get a message to him. Perhaps one containing your fingers."

"Or yours," James agreed. He was about to reach for Carver's hand, to wrench it back and pin the man to the table, but before he could make a move, the door opened.

The secretary walked in, all poised and holding a tray with two glasses of water. She saw the two men standing across from each other, narrowed her eyes at Carver, and must have seen some type of order there. James had just enough time to put up his arm before she was trying to take his head off with the tray.

The two glasses shattered on the floor as he shoved the tray away from himself and forced the woman back at the same time. She stumbled into the wall before kicking out at him. She was not just a secretary, he realized, noting her form and the strength in her muscles. Dodging, he lifted the tray, and her hand, until it was right by her head. She glared and tried to punch him with her free hand, but he leaned out of the way.

Then he slammed his fist into the tray, into her head, and she crumpled to the ground. The force and the sound made her too disoriented to stand, and he might have blown her eardrum out… or at least made her ear hurt a lot for a little while.

James turned from her and where she was holding her ear, and bent to lift one of the glasses from the floor. It was mostly destroyed, with only a quarter of the sides remaining. However, it made a perfect weapon since the base was still intact and the side ended in multiple jagged shards.

"Now now, Mr. Carver," James scolded and turned around with the glass in hand. "That wasn't very kind of you and your assistant."

"Mr. Sterling," Carver began, eyes on the jagged glass. James made a 'hmm' noise. It seemed Carver was unaware of James' true identity. Despite Mr. White's warnings, the secret service was not the only one without all the pieces of the puzzle. "I am a businessman."

"And you've gone into business with the wrong people, Mr. Carver," James replied, stepping around the desk. He held up the glass as though admiring it before turning a calm gaze on the aging man in front of him – on the man who organized the kidnapping of innocent civilians for slavery, who'd tortured Q for trying to get out. He may look like an ordinary old man, but Elliot Carver was not innocent. James' voice was cold. "Now about the information I requested."

* * *

Blofeld was in Scotland. In the few days since Bond's meeting with Mr. White, the man had gone north to see about a hiccup in his supply chain. In Carver's supply chain. Despite opposition to the plan, 007 was grounded from going after the man, and 004 was sent instead. It was a dead or alive mission, and Bond was eager to be the one to put a bullet between Blofeld's eyes. Alas, M had a great point for not sending James. Two points actually. One, James was becoming too emotionally involved in the case. Two, his reason for being emotionally involved was employed downstairs now and M was ordering James to take the young man out for a break.

"Leave Blofeld to 004. Your new friend in I.T. hasn't stopped working since we got him into the bloody lab three days ago. He's going to wither away before we've gotten any good mileage out of him. Take him out for coffee or to a petting zoo or whatever it is young people do these days, will you?" Mallory said. He tried to sound annoyed, but James just heard fondness.

So while Moneypenny was busy collecting data for a report Mallory needed by end of day, James took the lift down to I.T. and R&D. When the door opened, he found Q tinkering with something at a long desk while R leaned on the side. They were both talking animatedly about whatever it was Q was working on, but as James approached, the conversation turned.

"So what does R stand for anyway?" Q asked, his eyes down on his project. "I mean, it can't possibly stand for Research just because you work in R&D, right?"

She laughed, something James didn't know she could do without sarcasm, but there it was. "No. It's short for Raquel. But the nickname comes in handy since I'm pseudo in charge of R&D anyway. Pretty sure your name isn't a letter either, Q."

"It's short for Quincy," he admitted. "My mother wanted to name me after John Quincy Adams, but pap won over on the first name. Thank Queen and Country. So now I'm Daniel. But my mum's been calling me Quincy most of my life. I think it's her way of pretending she won the name battle."

"Daniel Quincy Adams, is it?" James asked, making himself known. Immediately, R's face became less friendly. Not hostile, but definitely not an expression that allowed honest laughter. "Still not convinced I shouldn't call you Quincy."

"Unless you want me to associate you with my mother, I still highly discourage such action," Q answered without missing a beat. He didn't seem startled at all, despite the fact that his back was to James. "Did you need something, 007?"

"Back to numbers, are we?" James asked, a little disappointed, but he didn't let the question hang. "You've got some field work to do, Mr. Adams. M's orders."

Under his breath, Q murmured, "I think I liked Quincy better." Then he set his project down and stood up. When he moved aside, James saw he'd been tinkering with a watch of all things. So not a fun new weapon then. Pity. "Alright. Hopefully I come back in one piece. See you later, R?"

"Absolutely, Q. And if you're not back in twelve hours, I'll send backup. Can't trust a Double O to bring back his toys uninjured." The sassy woman gave James a stare that he swore should only be allowed on mothers. It warned James not to hurt her little boy. But hang on. R wasn't that much older than Q. Was she? James really didn't know anything about her.

Q chuckled a little sourly. "Very reassuring, dear."

Then he shuffled past James toward the lift. R and James exchanged one more tense look before the older man smiled at her, throwing her off, and then turned away. Maybe it was work, maybe it was trauma, but M was right – Q wasn't quite right. It was obvious in the set of his shoulders, in the tense way he walked. Hell, maybe it was James' fault. He didn't know. But a short coffee date should help.

Once out in the pale sunlight of a bleak but dry day in London, James directed Q toward the tube.

"Where are we going?" the younger man asked. "I'm not trained for fighting, you know. Did M need me to hack something? Program a security system?"

"Not exactly," James admitted. "His orders were to take you to a petting zoo. But my guess is you don't get along with goats and geese."

Q stopped walking and waited until James did the same before he spoke. His brow was drawn together and he glanced back at the office. "Is this a joke?"

"Not unless you find it funny," he said. Then he motioned toward the tube entrance again. "I promise my plans do not involve baby animals, but M has decided you need a break from the lab. Now, do you trust me enough to proceed or will you scurry back into the dark of R&D?"

There was a pause of uncertainty, and James tried not to let it get to him. Did Q not trust him? But then Q scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Of course I trust you, 007. Lead on."

The name still bugged him, but James let it slide once more in lieu of getting Q moving. They spoke very little on the short trip, but once they were stepping out of the underground, Q couldn't help a snort of amusement.

"Are there no other coffee shops in London?" he asked.

"It's not actually about the coffee." James led the way across the busy street but let Q enter the building first. "It's about familiarity. Normalcy. Comfort."

"Well Prufrock fits all of those, I suppose." He nodded shortly and then they were quiet again.

The line wasn't long, and soon they were sitting in the back of the shop, in the same spot where James had eavesdropped before. After a sip or two each, James cleared his throat. "Are you sleeping at the office?" he asked. Because he knew Q wasn't sleeping at home, and he definitely hadn't slept at James' place since the first night. Or had Q gone to his parents?

"Yes. It lets me work on decrypting S.P.E.C.T.E.R. files and work on countermeasures until I fall asleep, and then I can continue as soon as I wake up." Q took another disinterested sip of coffee. "It's practical."

"It's taxing," James countered. "No agent is meant to be on site that long unless there is an immediate threat to her majesty the queen or an imminent attack. Neither of which is the case here."

"Isn't it though? Blofeld is still out there. His operations span five countries we're aware of. Until we have him in custody, he could be initiating any number of attacks and operations." He sighed and rubbed his left eye without taking off his glasses. "And until we have him, I must keep working. I gave him the blueprint of how to encrypt all of his communications. And that's only the most recent project I'd been working on for Riley. Who knows how many of my ideas are being used by these people? I need to help decode or fix whatever they find."

"You have a team now, Q. They have your software too. Work with R to delegate tasks. You don't have to do everything." It was ironic that he was giving such advice, considering he worked alone nine times out of ten and only called back to base if he ran out of every other option. But this was what Q needed to hear. And it was true for him.

"No. 007. You don't-"

"James," the agent interrupted casually.

Q looked up from his coffee, frowning like James had just told him they couldn't get a new puppy. "What?"

"My name is James Bond. I'm thirty-nine years old. I drink to deal with P.T.S.D., and also because I like to." He held his coffee up like he would take a sip but didn't. "Why do you insist on calling me by my number when you have known the rest of me for countless weeks?"

A frown formed on Q's face, dragging down his eyebrows, creating wrinkles on his forehead and around his mouth. "But have I known you?" he asked. "I worked for Riley Cane, for Elliot Carver, for more than a year. Not once did I ever imagine how many lies I had become trapped in. I never doubted his name, his origins. I played along perfectly in his plans. And you, I have known you for a far shorter time. And I didn't know you either. I took you for a traveling businessman. Come to find out you work for the government. It's funny, though. I used to consider myself a very good judge of character."

James pressed his lips together and gave himself time to consider how best to respond. It was true, after all, that Q had worked for a crime organization for a year without noticing, but there were plenty of cogs in the wheels of crime and espionage that had no idea they were even part of a machine. James knew that as surely as he knew the chance of a wet day in Ireland. But Q was struggling, and James was not the best with words. They both knew that.

"You seem a fine judge to me," he finally said. He cast his eyes out toward the doors and the street. "Moneypenny could not think higher of you, and even the employees of this coffee shop are fond of you in particular despite seeing hundreds of faces a day. Several times in your messages, you made it clear you had distaste for your work and your supervisor. Perhaps you didn't know what he was plotting, but you still knew he was up to something. A mouse doesn't need to see the teeth to know a cat is dangerous. It just knows. Just as you knew."

"A smart mouse would run," Q countered.

"A clever mouse would investigate," James said, looking back at his friend. His friend? His Q. He was Q's James. "And you are quite the clever mouse, Daniel. After all, you surmised my employment without me breathing a word of it."

The younger man chuckled. "You weren't exactly hiding it either."

Shaking his head and waving his hand to dismiss any such notion, James continued his pep talk. "The point is you haven't been trained yet. Your natural affinity for people's inherent goodness is commendable, but under MI-6, you'll be trained in psychology and how to recognize patterns in speech and behavior. I suppose I'm trying to say that recognizing threats for what they are is a trained skill. And you'll learn quickly."

The speech was met with a calm silence as Q seemed to absorb the words. He drank slowly from his cup and pressed his lips tight when he wasn't drinking, and for several long moments neither said a word. It was comfortable for James. He commended himself for such a good speech, really, and had no doubt Q would find benefit from it as well… even if it took him a few moments to figure it out. James was also no stranger to drawn out silences during conversation, or outright silence in his life. In fact, he'd never spoken so often to another person in his life as a spy as he did with Q. That as well was commendable to Q's nature. He would work well within the service.

Finally, Q set his cup down and sighed. "After all I've done in service to S.P.E.C.T.E.R., I'm surprised you still want anything to do with me," he admitted. The cold edge to his voice was not aimed at James, so he took no offense.

"Of course," James replied with a small upward lift of his lips. "What would I do without my Q?"

The words had the desired effect, and Q's expression grew awed and embarrassed in one melded moment. Just as James had taken to heart the phrase 'my James', it seemed Q also enjoyed being labeled in that fashion. Hopefully James' pleasure at that realization wasn't too apparent on his features. He just loved ruffling Q's feathers and making him embarrassed with compliments. Honestly, he did.

"Well- Don't get too full of yourself now, James. I'm not your Q anymore. I belong to the government, remember?" He motioned to his empty cup. "Speaking of which, we should be heading back. I think this coffee break has gone on long enough. I have projects to work on."

"Of course you do." James stood and drained the last of his cup before allowing Q to lead the way out.

The day was still bright by London terms and James was comfortable strolling at his own pace to return to the cramped disaster that was the tube. It seemed Q, despite his urging, was in the same mental state, and they took twice as long to find their way across the street and to the stairs.

The underground was full of commuters and tourists all pushing their way through halls and up escalators, but James was comfortable so long as Q was in view. When they found their station and were waiting for the next train, James even found himself humming a bit. Hearing Q call him James again had restored his good mood, and he saw no reason to give that up.

As the train roared into view, Q cleared his throat. "But perhaps," he said, barely audible over the hydraulics and the people, "I may be your Daniel."

James smiled as the crowds began shuffling into their speedy tuna can, he and Q included. "Of course you are," he said. When he looked down at Q, he saw the other staring out the windows of the car and trying to hide that he was grinning too.


	15. Chapter 15

Sorry for the delay. I was incredibly ill this past week (I'm not kidding. A whole week. Including Christmas.) I could barely get from my bed to the couch without wanting to throw up some days. But I'm on the mend and can finally post. Unfortunately this kills my plan to be done on New Year's Day, but what can you do? Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 15

The camera had a perfect view of 004 heading into the building. He was on guard but quick, and he made minimal mistakes, if any. Unlike James, he had a preference for keeping things as quiet as possible. As such, he took longer to complete a mission, but often it involved less gun shots and flaming cars. So there was that. He was a stellar operative.

In M's office, alongside Moneypenny, Q, and R, James watched the footage from 004's mission to locate and detain Ernst Blofeld. They had no cameras from inside the small residence the target was meant to be taking refuge in, just the street camera meant for traffic, not security.

After just a minute of 004 being inside, the screen erupted in light. In its wake was a building on fire, windows busted and door blown off into the street. Someone murmured out their shock, but James was tense where he stood and didn't bother using brain power to figure out who. Their man had been inside. 004 was dead.

"We have a team up there now, searching for any bodies. Best case is Blofeld went out in the blast, a murder suicide situation. But knowing the kind of man Blofeld is and the types of operations he has been part of in the past…" Mallory let the idea hang in the air as the feed finally ended and the screen went dark.

In the time after the video ended, everyone usually paused for a moment of silence, but not this time. Q stepped forward, surprising literally everyone, and said, "I'll find him, sir. He won't get away with what he's done."

"While I admire your enthusiasm, young man, we're a team here. We'll catch him together," M said and set his hand on a small remote. Instantly, the screen was retracted into the ceiling. "Also, us old fogies tend to like our dramatic silences. Next time, give it a minute before making your bold declarations. That way you show you're as serious as an old man while retaining your youthful gusto appropriately."

"Yes… Sir?" Q agreed warily and James couldn't help but smile slightly.

Mallory sighed as though the answer disappointed him and then woke his laptop up with a quick swipe of his finger over the mouse pad. "Well, I don't know what you're all still doing here. The silence is over. The time for dramatics is passed. Get back to work. We have a madman to catch."

The group shuffled from the room, except James. A Double O never shuffled. He strode. Gracefully. Obviously. Eve was assuring Q that Mallory wasn't actually annoyed with him. "He was just being an over dramatic old man." From within the office they heard a muffled, "I heard that." And they all showed their amusement in different ways. Eve and Q laughed. R smirked. James let the corner of his mouth twitch up.

"So, hero of the moment, ready to head to R&D and start working on finding our mad man?" R asked, clapping Q on the shoulder like a brother-in-arms.

"Of course." Q smiled at her, and James felt annoyingly jealous of the fact.

Sure, Q had said he was James' Daniel just the previous day, but he still felt like there was this new wall between them. It was as if meeting in person had dulled Q's admiration for James. Making their relationship 'real' had made it weaker. But the most annoying part for James was that he didn't know how to fix it. Was it him? Was seeing James fight and threaten people a turn-off? Was he too old now that Q saw him in person? They'd spent a night together, cuddled on the couch, and yet Q felt farther away than James had ever experienced before.

"I'll be in the fencing room," James said to no one in particular. He met Q's eye before turning to leave, and Moneypenny wished him luck as she returned to her desk.

"Okay?" R replied, rolling her eyes and then shaking her head. "You'll get used to that, Q. Double O's think the whole building needs to know what they're doing when they're here. It's like 'whoo hoo. You're actually working.' It's like they forget we have eyes on every floor."

James was out the door into the hall before she finished ranting. He stood for the elevator, hands clasped behind his back, and mentally cursed technology as he watched the number above the doors move slowly, slowly, slowly up to meet him.

Someone entered the hall with him, and he recognized Q by the weight of his steps. The younger man came to stand beside him, also facing the elevator, and they watched the number change twice before he finally spoke. He pushed his glasses further up his nose and made a thoughtful sound.

"You know, I've always fancied learning to fence," he said.

"What, a rich young man like yourself?" James teased. "Whatever in the world kept you from picking it up?"

Q smiled ironically and looked up at James. "Never quite had the time." He waited until James turned his head to look down at him, and then his smile turned almost deceptively sweet. "I suppose if I had a good teacher, I could be a quick learner."

"Oh?" The agent smirked with a sense of admiration in the quirk of his lips.

The elevator binged and the doors slid open. Q entered first and then turned around and stood at attention, like a good little soldier. Of course his posture was atrocious, but he was making an effort. Chuckling, James stepped into the lift and hit the button for the training floor.

"Well I hope your manhunt has time penciled in for you to gain a few bruises," he said as they descended. "I don't intend to go easy on you."

"Well that's rather rude, isn't it?" Q said more than asked, and James found himself chuckling again.

* * *

"How familiar are you with Rock, Paper, Scissors?" James asked as soon as he and Q were suited up. They decided to forego the masks to make talking easier, and James had ensured they had the sparring room to themselves so Q wouldn't feel watched.

"I believe everyone in the world knows the game pretty extensively, James," Q replied dryly and shifted his foil back and forth between his hands, tip up toward the ceiling like he was afraid James would attack at any moment.

"Then you're already equipped to understand fencing." James motioned to Q's foil and then to his own, which was held limply in a non-aggressive position. After a second, Q lowered the tip of his blade. "For attacks, the basics work like Rock, Paper, Scissors. In fencing, we call it the Tactical Wheel. Each tactic is set up to be defeated by the next tactic. The key is to use the appropriate tactic in your counter."

He then proceeded to explain the different tactics: the Simple Attack, Parry and Riposte, Compound attack, Attack on Preparation, Counter Time, Feint in Tempo, and back to the Simple Attack. "When your opponent starts gaining the upper hand, one tactic is to spin the wheel. Switch which tactics are your go-to set. Of course, if you're not skilled, switching tactics mid-bout can be risky, if not lethal. Fencing is designed not to be deadly, but you'll definitely lose the bout."

"How do you win a bout?"

"Generally, a bout ends when one player scores fifteen points through touches – in the case of foils, a touch means you must strike your opponent on their torso with only the tip of your blade. In other words, you must hit me as though you would pierce my body if you were fighting with a sharpened weapon." At Q's concerned expression, James smiled slightly. "Don't worry. We're using training foils. They're virtually harmless. Now let's teach you how to implement the tactics."

He motioned for Q to get into stance and then couldn't help looking amused as the other took up a stance that would only be useful in long sword battles.

"In fencing, you always begin with a salute." He demonstrated by standing tall, bringing his foil up in front of his right eye, and then sweeping the blade down and to the right, causing a whistling sound of air. Then he sheathed his foil. "Now you."

Less graceful, Q imitated the move. His blade tapped the floor at the end of his sweep, and the whistle wasn't as obvious, but they could work on the specifics of the salute later.

"Then get into 'en garde' position." Again, he demonstrated; body angled slightly sideways from Q, feet shoulder-width apart, front foot pointed straight out and back foot sideways. His right arm was loose and prepped to grab his sword. His left arm went out behind him, raised up at shoulder height and slightly bent, prepped to balance all his moves.

This part, Q imitated rather perfectly. After that, he ran Q through each set of tactics. First he would show how one was properly executed, then have Q do it to him a few times. Then he would move on to show the counter to that move. Two hours passed before they realized, and then the intercom by the door beeped loudly.

"Q, you're needed in I.T.," R called out. Of course she knew he was still there. She'd probably checked the cameras. There was at least one in each room.

"I'll be right down," Q called back, and the intercom beeped again to signal the end of the call.

Seeing Q the way he was after training, sweat building up under his hair, his shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths, his glasses threatening to slip down his nose at every turn, and his skin a slight heated pink from exertion – James found himself attracted even more to the programmer, and, of course, even more jealous of R's ability to pull him away.

"You should shower before you go," he said. "We've worked up quite a sweat, and I'm sure R wouldn't be pleased with you stinking up her lab."

Q took a moment to look down at his body, as though he could see himself sweating through the fencing gear, and then he shrugged. "I suppose you do have a point. A quick shower would do us both good, I think."

* * *

They showered as far from one another as possible, with roughly seven shower stalls between them. Okay, maybe Q picked his stall first and James purposely chose the one at the farthest end. But he was trying to be a gentleman. Gentleman who actually cared about their relationships let their less experienced, emotionally dampened significant others recover in peace and privacy and did not snoop on them in the shower. This was a noted difference from when James was a gentleman on mission, where he smoothly seduced and played into the emotions of whoever he needed to and would undoubtedly slip into the shower with them at a moment's notice.

When he was dry enough, James slipped on a loose pair of trackies that he kept in his bag. As he toweled his hair, he weighed the pros and cons of wearing them home. It wasn't that he cared if people saw him in non-business attire, more that he got more respect on the tube if he wore the suit.

Oh well. He didn't want to change again, so he'd just go home comfortable.

There was a noise outside of his towel, like someone being shocked but holding the sound in the back of their throat. When James pulled the towel back, he saw Q standing a few feet in front of him, fresh out of the toilet and dressed in his slacks and button up. He held his jumper in his hand, and his hair was tousled. James only gently scolded his mind for taking the time to properly admire the look.

"You look fetching," he said when it became obvious Q wasn't going to speak first. The hand holding the jumper tightened slightly, and James frowned. "R will approve."

With a roll of his eyes and a disgruntled sigh, Q said, "James, sometimes I do believe you may set a record for idiocy."

James shrugged and turned toward the locker he was currently using. It seemed he had made a mistake complimenting Q, and he didn't understand how. The programmer looked profoundly attractive, downright delectable, and James just wanted to run his fingers through that wet hair. Perhaps Q wasn't the type to be won with compliments on his physical appearance?

Towel around his shoulders, he reached in his locker for his shirt, but a hand stopped him. Q was by his side, hand light but decided around James' wrist.

"I'm not a child," he said, soft but determined. His words sounded like a declaration. "And I won't break under pressure. Not from this job, not from Charlie,… and not from you."

"What are you-?" James began. But before he could continue, Q's grip on his wrist tightened and the smaller man turned the seasoned agent around, crowding him against the lockers. Then he leaned up into James' space and pressed their lips together.

With all the grace of an experienced Casanova, James slid his free hand up on Q's cheek and pushed back into the kiss. He moved to urge Q's lips open, but then they already were, and James found himself on the submissive side of the interaction. It was a pleasant surprise, both being led through the dance as well as the fact that Q did the inviting.

James hummed and pulled back, his hand keeping Q from following. For a moment, he looked down at Q, simply admiring what they'd just done, what it could mean. Then Q's eyebrows knit together, his mouth started to tug down, and James finally cracked a small smile. He leaned down and kissed Q soft and quick.

"Daniel," he said. "I'm afraid you'll leave R waiting if you keep this up."

"James," the other mocked. "She's waited long enough already. Another few moments won't break the country."

With a short laugh, James said, "Unfortunately, in our line of work, it ultimately could." He caressed Q's cheek once and then dropped his hand. "You should go see R. I'll wait and we can go home when you're done."

Q rolled his eyes. Youth today was so impolite. "Fine. But once we're there, we're going to have a serious discussion about unnecessary delays."

And maybe Q wasn't as scared and sensitive as James expected. Maybe he wasn't as damaged as James had feared. He was the same brilliant programmer that had helped give James an anchor outside of work these fantastic past three months.

* * *

Thanks for reading!


	16. Chapter 16

Next chapter is the last one, everybody. Thanks for reading!

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Chapter 16

While Q worked with R, James visited the shooting range. He practiced on near and far targets as well as moving ones. M had been complaining about James' lack of interest in regular training, noting that the last time James was even in the shooting range he was only there to speak with Eve. And his last hand to hand combat training was months ago. Honestly, the hand to hand would be more fun, but he'd just taken a shower.

Just over two hours passed with James either shooting or discussing ammunition with the agent posted at the desk. He was back shooting when a hand clapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. Turning, he saw Q, a tired smile on his face. James lowered and emptied his weapon before removing his headphones.

"R&D still standing?" he asked, partly as a joke. He took his things to the counter to return them.

"I suppose so. It's a bit chaotic at the moment, but there's nothing more we can do now," Q said and ran a hand through his hair. He had a satchel slung across his chest but it seemed quite light. "We had a lead on Blofeld, just for a second. He was at the train station, but we were having a hard time figuring out which train he got on."

"The London bound train." There was no doubt in James' mind, and he spoke blandly as he grabbed his bag of clothes and walked out with Q.

The younger man laughed softly. "Of course you'd know instantly," he said. "Yes. We eventually found him heading south. Itineraries show his train arrived on schedule, but cameras caught no sight of him exiting with the other passengers. We have facial recognition scanning through every camera in the station as well as a separate scan going through cameras in other high profile areas around the city. He has to pop up somewhere. He can't just vanish."

"Should you be leaving, then?" James asked just as they stepped outside. Unlike the three-day-burnout Q had run immediately upon being hired, this was an actual active situation. This was the kind of information that kept agents on lockdown at their desks. "There are day beds in the building. If you need to stay-"

"Nonsense. You're the one who told me not to burn myself out. Besides, my phone is connected to the system, so if anything changes I'll know. Plus R left some bright young people in charge. I'm sure they can handle things for a few hours while R and I get some rest." Q raised his hand, catching a cab.

It was a miracle James was able to hold back his snarky comment about being surprised R didn't live in the air vents at the office. Instead he just made a noncommittal sound and slipped into the cab after Q. The driver pulled away from the curb and into the traffic of mid-day London. In the back seat, James looked over at Q and slipped his hand over the younger man's, and then he smiled when Q turned his hand over to link their fingers.

"You don't mind it?" James asked when he realized how often he thought of Q's age. "The age difference?"

Q rolled his eyes, but James didn't feel dismissed. "Of course it was a concern," he admitted. "But honestly I've always known I wouldn't end up in a traditional relationship. As I told Eve on more than one occasion, I was more worried you'd be put off at the idea of cradle robbing." He shook his head and let out a short sigh. "No, James. The age disparity is not a deciding factor."

"Well that is a relief," James said, and there was enough of a lilt in his voice to cause Q to look hard at him, trying to decide if he was teasing or not.

With narrowed gaze and pursed lips, he examined the agent for a good long moment, but then he relaxed and shrugged it off. As he relaxed into the seat again, he jolted slightly and then sat back up. "Oh, I almost forgot." He pulled his hand from James' to retrieve something from his satchel.

"A watch?" James asked as Q offered it to him. It was the one he'd seen the programmer tinkering with down in R&D. "Does it do anything?"

"It tells the time." Q gave a little half shrug as he clicked the watch securely on James' wrist. After admiring his handiwork and how perfectly he'd gotten it to fit, he sat back and added, "But, I should warn you, the alarm is a bit loud, if you catch my meaning."

Impressive. James raised a surprised eyebrow. There was a bomb of some kind in the watch? So small, so convert. Q was mastering this deception thing already. Pride and, sod it, love swelled in his chest at how brilliant Q was. "Consider it caught," he said before leaning across the cab to catch Q in another kiss.

And another. And one more for good measure.

"Oi," the cab driver exclaimed, looking back at them in the rearview.

"Oi, yourself! Fuck off, mate," Q shot back and even threw in a glare and a middle finger.

James couldn't help but laugh. Q switched so swiftly between average London citizen and eloquent programmer that it was amazing he didn't get verbal whiplash. The laugh drew Q's attention back to him and the younger man muttered, "Shut up," before kissing James again. The agent slipped his hand up onto Q's shoulder to hold him close and let his eyes slide shut.

Kissing Q was an exercise James would gladly take up at any time, and he enjoyed the press of soft yet slightly chapped lips against his, which he could only imagine were dry from age as much as anything else. But Q didn't seem to mind at all.

The taxi went over a bump and James' eyes glanced past Q between kisses. His hand on Q's shoulder tensed and he pushed the younger man back slightly. This was not the way to James' flat, nor was it the way to Q's home.

"Where are we going?" James asked and cursed himself for not paying attention to his surroundings.

Confused, Q turned to look out all the windows, but it was the cabbie who spoke. "Home, of course. You want to be with your family, don't you?"

"… My parent's?" Q asked. Then, with more certainty, he said, "This is the way to my mum's house."

James' mouth pressed into a thin line and he leaned forward, using the passenger seat for leverage. "What's going on? Who told you-" He stopped. He stopped because he recognized the driver from photographs and video surveillance. Damn. "Blofeld."

"Blofeld?" Q asked in shock. His hand disappeared into his satchel, but James didn't worry about him pulling out a weapon. Q was smarter than to injure the driver of a car they were in.

"Nice to finally meet you in person, James," Ernst Blofeld said with a smug grin. "After all the noise you've been making, I thought you'd be pleased to see my attention is finally on you."

The best plan of action… If they got to Q's parent's house, whatever Blofeld was planning would be one step closer to completion. But if they took Blofeld out now, they could end up in the river or killing civilians on the street or simply be the victims of an out of control car crash. Normally, Bond would calculate the best time to take Blofeld out in the car with the least likely chance of injured innocents and not worry about his own safety, but Q was in the car too. He couldn't guarantee the young programmer's life in such an event.

"Do I not look pleased?" James asked, his face set in a monotonous expression.

Blofeld shrugged as he turned a corner. "I think you looked rather pleased a minute ago. You know, for all my recent surveillance on you, I had no idea you were in a relationship with my saboteur. If I'd known that, I would have planned this day to be far more special. But then again, I suppose I could add some last minute flair."

"And what exactly do you have planned for today?" James was buying time, and Blofeld undoubtedly knew that. The agent's eyes scanned the scenery outside, but also kept an eye on any movement by Blofeld. "It's not my birthday."

The older man laughed deep in his throat. "Oh, James. Today is much better than a birthday. Today is the day this ends." As the cab turned onto a new street, Q tensed in the back seat and James knew they were on the last road. "Today is the day I take everything from you."

Incapacitating Blofeld before they arrived was too risky, so James dropped back into his seat and took up Q's hand instead. Eyes still on the back of Blofeld's head, he leaned close to Q. "When the car stops," he whispered, "Find a place to take cover."

"And what about you? My parents? Marnie?" Q asked just as quietly.

"I'll take care of Blofeld. Then your family will be safe." He kissed Q's knuckles, which seemed to catch the young man off guard. "I promise."

When the shock of the gentle kiss wore off, Q nodded and closed his eyes. "This job… It's like fencing," he said, and James nodded too. The job was a constant game of rock, paper, scissors. The hard part was figuring out what each counter was. "Alright. I trust you. You taught me to fence, after all."

In the front seat, Blofeld exclaimed, "An awful lot of whispering back there! I wouldn't plan a coup just yet, boys. Look up ahead. I've got a present waiting for you."

The cab was slowing to a stop, and they could see Q's parent's house just ahead. Two men were standing on either side of a well used family car, trying and failing to not look too conspicuous. The closer they got, the easier it was to tell that people were in the car and that those people were Q's family. The men outside the car smirked when the cab stopped.

"Now play nice, boys, or I can't guarantee the safety of this lovely family." Blofeld turned slightly in his seat to grin maniacally back at them. "Well, if I'm being honest, I can't really guarantee their safety anyway. I mean, I do plan to kill all of you eventually, after all. Your family, little Daniel, is just the unfortunate collateral damage." Then he motioned for them to get out of the cab on the side nearest the house.

Q was tense and silent, his eyes on the little silver car his father drove into the city center almost every day. When the three of them were out of the cab, Blofeld turned to them with a gun out but held close to his body.

"The two of you have been quite a nuisance for me," he said. "You killed several of my agents, one in my favorite backyard, right here in the supply chain. The young Carver among those bodies was a very promising protégé of mine. Carver Sr. has been missing for some time now as well, and I can only assume you're the ones behind it. But after poking your noses into my business in America? In Africa? I'm afraid this is the last straw."

James did his best to look unconcerned while Q fidgeted with his sleeves. "Well, you shouldn't start fights in other people's backyards if you aren't prepared to take a few punches."

"Enough punches have been thrown, I think," Blofeld sneered and raised his gun slightly. One of the men by the family car moved then, pulling a small remote from his pocket. "You remember the device I built in the colonies, don't you, Mr. Bond?"

The high frequency machine that turned people into fighting monsters. James frowned hard and tried not to remember how infuriatingly out of control he'd felt back then. But why bring it up now? His eyes flickered to the car and the remote. As the guard smirked and turned to stare in at his terrified hostages, James saw the small spot of color on the man's ear. Or, more precisely, in it. He was wearing some type of ear plug. James' eyes darted to the other guard and saw the same thing.

"A small version of the device is in the car," Blofeld said. "I'm going to turn it on, and then I'm going to make you watch as this family tears itself apart – literally. And if you make a single move to help them, I'll shoot you both."

With Q as collateral and Blofeld with the gun and out of reach, James wasn't sure how to stop the guard from turning on the machine. If only they could take out that concern – then James could take out the guards and Blofeld without worrying. He might take a bullet, but that was nothing new. But if he attacked Blofeld, the device would turn on and Q's family would kill each other. If he even moved to make such an attack, Blofeld could shoot Q. Damn it.

"James," Q murmured, hand on his right wrist, tightening and loosening his watch over and over again. "Remember what I told you in the car?"

"Yes," James said, and touched his own watch. "Do you remember what I told you?" About taking cover?

"Yes." Q swallowed thickly.

"Aw, are we witnessing your final goodbyes?" Blofeld asked with saccharine sweetness. He chuckled lightly and glanced over at his men, prepared to give the final order. "I'm afraid it's too late for-"

Before James could make a move, Q was ripping his own watch off and slinging it across the yard. It hit the pavement of the driveway and slid up under his father's car. Blofeld's jaw tensed and his eyes grew cold, but he couldn't even swear before the device in the watch went off.

Electricity struck out, tazing and stunning the guards on either side of the car but not reaching up through the rubber of the tires. As the guards hit the ground, Blofeld turned and shouted, gun raised up to aim at Q's heart. Q was already diving for cover behind the cab, and James was rushing Blofeld, and when the gun went off it didn't hit its target. It caught James in the side, just barely, and it stung and burned but he knew he'd survive it.

Disarming Blofeld was too easy, just a turn and flick of the wrist, and then an elbow to the face brought the man to his knees. For all his talk and bravado, he was just as fragile as anyone else. James flipped Blofeld's gun on its owner and his forehead crinkled in frustration.

"It's over," he said. Too easily, he thought. After all they went through, Blofeld made a terrible mistake by meeting them in person, and it ended without a bang. Disappointing.

When Blofeld began to chuckle again, the sound disrupted by his broken nose, Q poked his head out from where he hid. "I may not be a fighter," the older man said, "and you may have me beaten today, but this isn't over."

He held up one hand and revealed a small remote, identical to the one his guard had held. His expression was maniacally proud as he chuckled.

"Get Out Of The Car!" Q shouted, running from his protection and toward his family.

"Q!" James reached for the remote as the doors to the car popped open, but he couldn't stop Blofeld's thumb from pressing down hard on the button. "Bastard."

No new sound turned on, but the nearby animals fell instantly silent. The Adams' scrambled away, even as James could see the frequency confusing their brains. He snatched the remote from Blofeld and pressed the button again, but nothing happened. With the doors on the car open, the frequency was reaching them all, and Q covered his ears and hunched over less than ten feet from the source.

"Turn it off," James ordered, gun on Blofeld. He tossed the remote back. "Turn it off!"

Q's father was covering his wife, as if expecting an explosion, but his protective motion was quickly turning harsh as he began to squeeze her. Marnie was a gem, as always, and had quickly turned to sock her second brother in the jaw. A bout of sibling rivalry began to break out on the lawn.

"Silly, James," Blofeld laughed. "There is no way to turn it off."

With a growl, James snapped the butt of the gun into Blofeld's head and knocked him unconscious – possibly killed him – James didn't give a damn at the moment. He could feel his rage rising up, could see it crawling under the skin of Q and his family. They had to turn it off!

Quickly, James undid his new watch and then struggled to concentrate on hitting the alarm. Frustration and violent rage built up in his hands and he chucked the watch just as soon as he felt the button depress under his finger. It flew into the backseat of the silver car, bouncing slightly on the cushions.

And then it exploded. The silver family car jumped and then crumpled, its insides turned outside, and the whole family was blown back onto the ground. Q flew back so far that he collided with James and the two toppled over onto the sidewalk.

Hindsight hit James almost as hard as Q, and he realized he should have shouted some kind of warning. Now a tangled heap on the ground, Q's siblings had been closest to the blast, and Q's parents had been knocked to their knees, his father now haphazardly pinning his mother to the dirt. A warning would have been good, even if they hadn't been able to listen.

"Sorry, Q," James groaned as the other scrambled to get purchase on the ground and roll off his boyfriend. "I broke your present already."

The others were starting to regain their faculties, slowly moving away from one another and staring in horror between the car and each other. At least they seemed to be without major injury. How was Q meant to explain this? Or would James need to do it? Damn, they'd probably get dragged in to see some blank faced suits who'd make them sign the Official Secrets Act. This was a lovely mess.

The young computer genius huffed out a whine of disbelief and set his hand on James' stomach. "Think nothing of it, Bond. I'll-" He stopped mid-word, and his face went pale as he lifted his hand from James' stomach and looked down at it. "James-"

"I'll be alright," James said, but he really needed to stop doing stupid shit like this. Moneypenny had a point sometimes. He was getting too old for near death experiences. "I just… need to lie down. Call Eve."

"Like hell I'm calling anyone else." Q said the words like a curse. He was already dialing and then glaring at nothing as he waited for her to pick up. "Eve, call your paramedics or your doctors or whoever. Bond is being a colossal prat and bleeding out on my parent's front drive. Yes. Also, there was an explosion. Or two. Listen, call who you need to call. I'm not familiar with the protocols yet. Just get someone over here."

After he hung up, James tried to laugh, but being shoved to the ground had worsened his wound, and he could only manage one chuckle before he cringed in pain. "You-," he began before needing to wait for the pain to subside. "You're going to fit in just fine."

"Shut up, you utter wanker," Q scolded, but he seemed to be blushing under his scowl. "How could you let yourself get shot? Honestly. I thought you were a Double O for a reason." He let out a sigh. "It seems they'll give out numbers to anyone these days."

James couldn't laugh, but he could smile, and he did. He wasn't worried about losing too much blood. The pressure Q was putting on his wound was enough to plug a river, after all. And he wasn't worried about losing Q either. The younger man had handled himself rather well in the altercation, and though he was shaken, he didn't look like his fighting spirit was dampened at all.

An image of Q in the locker room came to mind then, and James let out a soft sigh. Q wasn't as fragile as James kept thinking he was. And how lucky did that make James? Far too lucky, honestly. But James wasn't about to point that out.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: I know this chapter is short. It's really more of an epilogue. But I hope it ties everything up nicely for you all.

Thank you so much for reading to the end! I hope the story brought you a moment of joy, as any good work of fiction should. To those who left comments- thank you for all the lovely compliments and for helping shape parts of the fic. You all mean the world to me (and to writers everywhere) - Keep being awesome!

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Chapter 17

"You've reached James. Leave a message only if it is important. Your messages may or may not be received in a timely manner."

-Beep!-

"Bond, it's Eve. Mallory's looking for you. Says he'll demote you for real this time if you don't turn your report in soon. We all know it's bullocks, but I'd suggest at least making a call to him. I know you have your mobile on you, even if you aren't answering it….. Damn it, James. Seriously, pick up the phone."

Lying on the couch under a thin blanket, James stared up at the ceiling and couldn't help the smirk making its way onto his face. It was his day off, officially, and everyone at the office knew it, so really he didn't know what Mallory was thinking when he made Eve call him. But seriously, she'd already tried his mobile four times. He'd give her credit for persistence.

"Fine, don't pick up," she continued. "But when you come in tomorrow, you need your report. Understand? And tell Q that R&D is still waiting on his department's analysis of the new jet pack technology. He needs to submit that ASAP. ….. Call me."

-Click-

The blanket over James moved as Q shifted and pushed himself up onto his hands until he was propped up off James's chest. The younger man looked in the direction of the machine, but without his glasses James knew he couldn't actually see it.

"I suppose it must be common knowledge where I sleep these days then," he said, and he sounded neither upset nor excited. If anything, he was disappointed… in himself. In an agency of spies, he couldn't even hide where he slept.

"I don't know that Eve counts as 'common knowledge', but if it's any consolation, I heard some of the kids in R&D are impressed that you managed to, how did they put it?, 'tie me down'?" He grinned smugly. "Oh, what would they say if they knew who really tied whom down?"

"Luckily, that is information no one outside of this relationship will ever need to know." Q grabbed his glasses from the coffee table and slid them on. "Do you think you should give her a ring? That was her fifth call, after all, and it may be in our best interest to not let our comrades think we're M.I.A. or we've fallen victim to some type of domestic terrorism."

With a disapproving sound in his throat, James reached up and pulled Q back down on his chest. "The irony of that suggestion is that your mobile has dozens of missed calls from dear old mum and dad. No. I'll call Eve back later."

"Liar." But Q didn't try to get back up. He stared out toward the half-covered windows and the early afternoon light. "Dad keeps asking how long I've been in the spy business. Mum keeps asking me to quit, like it'll make everything that happened disappear."

Gently, James wrapped his arms around Q's smaller body and squeezed. The younger's hair tickled his cheek, but he didn't try to brush it away. He could feel Q's heart beating and smiled. That heartbeat was always faster than James' somehow, and not because Q was more skittish or excited. It just was.

"You've got Marnie on your side," he reminded.

After the car had exploded and they'd all been released from the power of Blofeld's machine, Q's family had been stunned and confused. Marnie, who had every right to be the most emotional one since she was pregnant and the brawl had endangered her child, turned out to be the calmest of the bunch. She listened to her parents and elder brother rattle off question after question in Daniel's face for about ten minutes. Then she'd stepped between the two parties and pointed a disapproving finger at her family.

Her rant had been glorious and not meant for little ears. As she explained it to Q later, the way the machine had made her feel was the same way she often felt with Charlie, only the machine didn't let her bottle it up. Something about finally giving in to that rage had woken her up to all the things Q had tried to tell her or help her with over the years, and she wanted to apologize for always degrading him about his feelings. Of course, she'd flippantly added that it must be a motherly quality in herself, wanting to protect someone as young and tiny as Q, which had sort of put a damper on the moment for Q.

"An ally is an ally, I suppose," Q murmured unenthusiastically. Despite the tone, James knew Q was more than happy to have his sister's support. He'd seen the smiles that slid onto Q's face whenever it was brought up or whenever she spoke up in his defense. His new Quartermaster was happy.

"Speaking of allies," James began, switching subjects. "R's waiting on jet pack specs? Just what kind of shenanigans are you pulling now that they've given you your own department? And when do I get my jet pack?"

"You're insufferable sometimes, James." He didn't sound upset, not really. On the contrary, he turned his gaze back to James and kissed him for his troublesome ways. "Never. I am never giving you a jet pack. I can just imagine all the ways you'd misuse one."

"Then why build one at all?" The older man stretched out lazily, and Q was momentarily distracted by the view of James Bond being so vulnerable and trusting.

He carefully dragged a finger down James' arm, tracing the veins there when he could, and made a thoughtful noise. "For my own enjoyment, obviously," he finally answered. "How else could I swoop in to save you when you're being an idiot?"

The laugh that rumbled through James' chest was low but full. He hadn't felt so warm in a very, very long time. In fact, he hadn't felt so good since… since he was a pre-teen, still enjoying what little comforts childhood could afford to someone like him. But this warmth was different. Back then it was the comfort of being with his parents. Now it was the comfort of being with a partner he'd chosen all on his own, someone he trusted with everything.

"I can't let you die, now can I?" Q continued. He looked down into James' eyes and smiled his tiny, content smile. "My James."

Feeling his own mouth tug up into a little grin, James took a deep breath through his nose and nodded.

They laid there for several moments, just looking at each other and listening to their conjoined breathing. Then Q closed his eyes and sighed. "You really should call her back, though," he said. "She's gone through the trouble and left you a message."

In that moment, James debated getting rid of the landline altogether. The only one he ever answered the phone for now had his mobile number. Better to get rid of that annoyance, right? But no. He wouldn't go through with it. He might erase the message though.

"Well you're not wrong." Bringing his arms back down, James slid his hands onto Q's cheeks. "But just give me a few moments. I don't get days off very often, and I intend to enjoy this one as much as possible." Lifting himself up, he pressed a kiss to Q's forehead before going for the lips.

Not that long ago, his days off consisted of staring out his window and slowly drinking away the PTSD and boredom. Then, one fateful day, his best friend decided to give him another friend. He could still remember his curiosity at seeing the message marker blinking on his machine that first day. There had been no way to predict that one message would turn into dozens, would turn into them lying together on the couch for a lazy day lie-in.

No, James wouldn't get rid of his answering machine. He had it to thank for where he was now just as much as he had to thank Eve. It had given him distraction, had given him Daniel Adams.

"My Daniel," he murmured between his lips and Q's. He felt the younger man smile, and then he was being kissed more fiercely.

Q's hands roamed the bare skin of James' chest, working their way down as Q moved his lips to James' collarbone. James groaned in appreciation just as the both of their mobiles began to vibrate on the coffee table.

Hands on James' underpants, Q scoffed and shook his head. He slowly pulled James' only piece of clothing off as he said, "Sod it. They can leave a message." And James laughed.


End file.
